/CHAPPY 
VALLEY 


• 


BOOKS  BY  JOHN  FOX,  JR. 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


IN    HAPPY    VALLEY    AND    OTHER    STORIES. 

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IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 


"  You  stay  hyeh  with  the  baby,"  he  said  quietly,   "  an'  I'll 
take  yo'  meal  home."  [Page  61. 


/r" 

IN 
HAPPY  VALLEY 


BY 

JOHN    FOX,    JR. 


ILLUSTRATED     BY 

F.  C.  YOHN 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1917 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  1917,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published  October,  19T7 


COPYRIGHT,  190;,  i?<w,  BY  P.  F:  COLLIER  &  SON,  INCORPORATED 


TO 

HOPE 

LITTLE    DAUGHTER 

OF 
RICHARD    HARDING  DAVIS 


R22173 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 1 

THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 29 

THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 47 

THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY  ....  63 

His  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 101 

THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER Ill 

THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 127 

THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY   ....  145 

THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL  .  191 

THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON  207 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"You  stay  hyeh  with  the  baby,"  he  said  quietly, 

"an'  I'll  take  yo'  meal  home"     .    .    .  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

"You  got  him  down!"   she  cried.     "Jump  on 

him  an' stomp  him  !" 26 

"Mammy,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I'll  stop  drinkin' 

if  you  will" 44 

"Let  'em  loose!"  he  yelled.     "Git  at  it,  boys! 

Go  fer  him,  Ham — whoop-ee-ee  ! " 92 

"Miss  Hildy,  Jeems  Henery  is  the  bigges'  liar  on 

Viper" 116 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  give  it  back  to  'em.     Churches, 

schools,  libraries,  hospitals,  good  roads"  .    .      138 

Night  and  day,  and  through  wind  and  storm,  she 

had  travelled  the  hills,  healing  the  sick      .    .     172 

"O  Lawd  .  .  .  hyeh's  another  who  meddles  with 

thy  servant  and  profanes  thy  day"    ....     200 


THE   COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

T>REACHING  at  the  open-air  meet- 
-*-  ing-house  was  just  over  and  the 
citizens  of  Happy  Valley  were  pouring 
out  of  the  benched  enclosure  within 
living  walls  of  rhododendron.  Men, 
women,  children,  babes  in  arms  mounted 
horse  or  mule  or  strolled  in  family 
groups  homeward  up  or  down  the  dusty 
road.  Youths  and  maids  paired  off, 
dallying  behind.  Emerged  last  one  rich, 
dark,  buxom  girl  alone.  Twenty  yards 
down  the  road  two  young  mountaineers 
were  squatted  in  the  shade  whittling, 
and  to  one  she  nodded.  The  other 
was  a  stranger — one  Jay  Dawn — and  the 
stare  he  gave  her  was  not  only  bold  but 
impudent. 


.        IN  ;HAPPY  VALLEY 

•:  '.;?? Who's  goin'   home  with  that  gal?" 
she  heard  him  ask. 

"Nobody,"  was  the  answer;  "that 
gal  al'ays  goes  home  alone"  She  heard 
his  snort  of  incredulity. 

"Well,  I'm  goin'  with  her  right  now." 
The  other  man  caught  his  arm. 

"No,  you  ain't" — and  she  heard  no 
more. 

Athwart  the  wooded  spur  she  strode 
like  a  man.  Her  full  cheeks  and  lips 
were  red  and  her  black,  straight  hair 
showed  Indian  blood,  of  which  she  was 
not  ashamed.  On  top  of  the  spur  a 
lank  youth  with  yellow  hair  stood  in 
the  path. 

"How-dye,  Allaphair ! "  he  called  uneas 
ily,  while  she  was  yet  some  yards  away. 

"How-dye!"   she  said  unsmiling  and 
striding  on  toward  him  with  level  eyes. 
4 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

"Allaphair,"  he  pleaded  quickly, 
"lemme " 

"Git  out  o'  my  way,  Jim  Spurgill." 
The  boy  stepped  quickly  from  the  path 
and  she  swept  past  him. 

"Allaphair,  lemme  walk  home  with 
ye."  The  girl  neither  answered  nor 
turned  her  head,  though  she  heard  his 
footsteps  behind  her. 

"Allaphair,  uh,  Allaphair,  please  lem 
me — "  He  broke  off  abruptly  and 
sprang  behind  a  tree,  for  Allaphair 's 
ungentle  ways  were  widely  known.  The 
girl  had  stooped  for  a  stone  and  was 
wheeling  with  it  in  her  hand.  Gingerly 
the  boy  poked  his  head  out  from  behind 
the  tree,  prepared  to  dodge. 

"  You're  wuss'n  a  she-wolf  in  sucklin' 
time,"  he  grumbled,  and  the  girl  did 
not  seem  displeased.  Indeed,  there  was 
5 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

a  grim  smile  on  her  scarlet  lips  when 
she  dropped  the  stone  and  stalked  on. 
It  was  almost  an  hour  before  she  crossed 
a  foot-log  and  took  the  level  sandy 
curve  about  a  little  bluff,  whence  she 
could  see  the  two-roomed  log  cabin 
that  was  home.  There  were  flowers  in 
the  little  yard  and  morning-glories 
covered  the  small  porch,  for,  boyish 
as  she  was,  she  loved  flowers  and  grow 
ing  things.  A  shrill  cry  of  welcome 
greeted  her  at  the  gate,  and  she  swept 
the  baby  sister  toddling  toward  her 
high  above  her  head,  fondled  her  in 
her  arms,  and  stopped  on  the  threshold. 
Within  was  another  man,  slight  and 
pale  and  a  stranger. 

"This  is  the  new  school-teacher,  Alla- 
phair,"    said    her    mother.      "He    calls 
hisself  Iry  Combs." 
6 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

"How-dye!"  said  the  girl,  but  the 
slight  man  rose  and  came  forward  to 
shake  hands.  She  flashed  a  frown  at 
her  mother  a  moment  later,  behind  the 
stranger's  back;  teachers  boarded  around 
and  he  might  be  there  for  a  week  and 
perhaps  more.  The  teacher  was  moun 
tain  born  and  bred,  but  he  had  been  to 
the  Bluegrass  to  school,  and  he  had 
brought  back  certain  little  niceties  of 
dress,  bearing,  and  speech  that  irritated 
the  girl.  He  ate  slowly  and  little,  for 
he  had  what  he  called  indigestion,  what 
ever  that  was.  Distinctly  he  was  shy,  and 
his  only  vague  appeal  to  her  was  in  his 
eyes,  which  were  big,  dark,  and  lonely. 

It  was  a  disgrace  for  Allaphair  to 
have  reached  her  years  of  one-and- 
twenty  without  marrying,  and  the  dis 
grace  was  just  then  her  mother's  favorite 
7 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

theme.  Feeling  rather  poorly,  the  old 
woman  began  on  it  that  afternoon. 
Allaphair  had  gone  out  to  the  woodpile 
and  was  picking  up  an  armful  of  fire 
wood,  and  the  mother  had  followed 
her.  Said  Allaphair: 

"I  tell  you  agin  an'  agin  I  hain't  got 
no  use  fer  'em — a-totin'  guns  an'  knives 
an'  a-drinkin'  moonshine  an'  fightin' 
an'  breakin'  up  mee tin's  an'  lazin'  aroun' 
ginerally.  An'  when  they  ain't  that 
way,"  she  added  contemptuously, 
"they're  like  that  un  thar.  Look  at 
him!"  She  broke  into  a  loud  laugh. 
Ira  Combs  had  volunteered  to  milk, 
and  the  old  cow  had  just  kicked  him 
over  in  the  mud.  He  rose  red  with 
shame  and  anger — she  felt  more  than 
she  saw  the  flash  of  his  eyes — and  val 
iantly  and  silently  he  went  back  to  his 
8 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

task.  Somehow  the  girl  felt  a  pang  of 
pity  for  him,  for  already  she  saw  in  his 
eyes  the  telltale  look  that  she  knew  so 
well  in  the  eyes  of  men.  With  his  kind 
it  would  go  hard;  and  right  she  was 
to  the  detail. 

She  herself  went  to  St.  Hilda  to  work 
and  learn,  but  one  morning  she  passed 
his  little  schoolhouse  just  as  he  was 
opening  for  the  day.  From  a  gable 
the  flag  of  her  country  waved,  and  she 
stopped  mystified.  And  then  from  the 
green,  narrow  little  valley  floated  up  to 
her  wondering  ears  a  song.  Abruptly  it 
broke  off  and  started  again;  he  was 
teaching  the  children  the  song  of  her 
own  land,  which  she  and  they  had  never 
heard  before.  It  was  almost  sunset  when 
she  came  back  and  the  teacher  was  start 
ing  for  home.  He  was  ahead  of  her — 
9 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

she  knew  he  had  seen  her  coming — but 
he  did  not  wait  for  her,  nor  did  he  look 
back  while  she  was  following  him  all  the 
way  home.  And  next  Sunday  he  too 
went  to  church,  and  after  meeting  he 
started  for  home  alone  and  she  followed 
alone.  He  had  never  made  any  effort 
to  speak  to  her  alone,  nor  did  he  ven 
ture  the  courting  pleasantries  of  other 
men.  Only  in  his  telltale  eyes  was  his 
silent  story  plain,  and  she  knew  it  bet 
ter  than  if  he  had  put  it  into  words.  In 
spite  of  her  certainty,  however,  she  was  a 
little  resentful  that  Sunday  morning,  for 
his  slender  figure  climbed  doggedly  ahead, 
and  suddenly  she  sat  down  that  he  might 
get  entirely  out  of  her  sight. 

She  got  down  on  her  hands  and  knees 
to  drink  from  the  little  rain-clear  brook 
that    tinkled    across    the    road    at    the 
10 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

bottom  of  the  hill,  and  all  at  once  lifted 
her  head  like  a  wild  thing.  Some  one 
was  coming  down  the  hill — coming  at 
a  dog-trot.  A  moment  later  her  name 
was  called,  and  it  was  the  voice  of  a 
stranger.  She  knew  it  was  Jay  Dawn, 
for  she  had  heard  of  him — had  heard  of 
his  boast  that  he  would  keep  company 
with  her — and  she  kept  swiftly  on. 
Again  and  again  he  called,  but  she  paid 
no  heed.  She  glared  at  him  fiercely 
when  he  caught  up  with  her — and 
stopped.  He  stopped.  She  walked  on 
and  he  walked  on.  He  caught  her  by 
the  arm  when  she  stopped  again,  and 
she  threw  off  his  hold  with  a  force  that 
wheeled  him  half  around,  and  started 
off  on  a  run.  She  stooped  when  she 
next  heard  him  close  to  her  and  whirled, 
with  a  stone  in  her  hand. 
11 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"Go  'way!"  she  panted.  "I'll  brain 
ye ! "  He  laughed,  but  he  came  no 
nearer. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  as  though  giving 
up  the  chase,  but  when  she  turned  the 
next  spur  there  Jay  was  waiting  for  her 
by  the  side  of  the  road. 

"How-dye,"  he  grinned.  Three  times 
he  cut  across  ledge  and  spur  and  gave 
her  a  grinning  how-dye.  The  third 
time  she  was  ready  for  him  and  she  let 
fly.  The  first  stone  whistled  past  his 
head  with  astonishing  speed.  The 
second  he  dodged  and  the  third  caught 
him  between  the  shoulders  as  he  leaped 
for  a  tree  with  an  oath  and  a  yell.  And 
there  she  left  him,  swearing  horribly 
and  frankly  at  her. 

Jay  Dawn  did  not  go  back  to  logging 
that  week.  Report  was  that  he  had 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

gone  to  "courtin'  an'  thro  win'  rocks  at 
woodpeckers."  Both  statements  were 
true,  but  Jay  was  courting  at  long 
range.  He  hung  about  her  house  a 
great  deal.  Going  to  mill,  looking  for 
her  cow,  to  and  fro  from  the  mission, 
Allaphair  never  failed  to  see  Jay  Dawn. 
He  always  spoke  and  he  never  got  an 
swer.  He  always  grinned,  but  his  eye 
was  threatening.  To  the  school-teacher 
he  soon  began  to  give  special  notice, 
for  that  was  what  Allaphair  seemed  to 
be  doing  herself.  He  saw  them  sitting 
in  the  porch  together  alone,  going  out 
to  milk  or  to  the  woodpile.  Passing  her 
gate  one  flower-scented  dusk,  he  heard 
the  drone  of  their  voices  behind  the 
morning-glory  vines  and  heard  her  laugh 
quite  humanly.  He  snorted  his  disgust, 
but  once  when  he  saw  the  girl  walking 
13 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

home  with  the  teacher  from  school  he 
seethed  with  rage  and  bided  his  time 
for  both.  He  did  spend  much  time 
throwing  at  woodpeckers,  ostensibly,  but 
he  was  not  practising  for  a  rock  duel 
with  Allaphair.  He  had  picked  out  the 
level  stretch  of  sandy  road  not  far  from 
Allaphair's  house,  which  was  densely 
lined  with  rhododendron  and  laurel,  and 
was  carefully  denuding  it  of  stones. 
When  any  one  came  along  he  was  play 
ing  David  with  the  birds;  a  moment 
later  he  was  "a-workin5  the  public  road," 
but  not  to  make  the  going  easier  for  the 
none  too  dainty  feet  of  Allaphair.  In 
deed,  the  girl  twice  -saw  him  at  his  pe 
culiar  diversion,  but  all  suspicion  was 
submerged  in  scorn. 

The    following    Sunday    things    hap 
pened.     On  the   way  from  church  the 
14 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

girl  had  come  to  the  level  stretch  of 
sand.  Beyond  the  vine-clad  bluff  and 
"a  whoop  and  a  holler"  further  on  was 
home.  Midway  of  the  stretch  Jay  Dawn 
stepped  from  the  bushes  and  blocked 
her  way,  and  with  him  were  his  grin 
and  his  threatening  eye. 

"I'm  goin'  to  kiss  ye,"  he  said.  Right, 
left,  and  behind  she  looked  for  a  stone, 
and  he  laughed. 

"Thar  hain't  a  rock  between  that 
poplar  back  thar  and  that  poplar  thar 
at  the  bluff;  the  woodpeckers  done  got 
'em  all."  There  was  no  use  to  run — 
the  girl  knew  she  was  trapped  and  her 
breast  began  to  heave.  Slowly  he  neared 
her,  with  one  hand  outstretched,  as 
though  he  were  going  to  halter  a  wild 
horse,  but  she  did  not  give  ground. 
When  she  slapped  at  his  hand  he  caught 
15 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

her  by  one  wrist,  and  then  with  light 
ning  quickness  by  the  other.  Quickly 
she  bent  her  head,  caught  one  of  his 
wrists  with  her  teeth,  and  bit  it  to  the 
bone,  so  that  with  an  open  cry  of  pain 
he  threw  her  loose.  Then  she  came  at 
him  with  her  fists  like  a  man,  and  she 
fought  like  a  man.  Blow  after  blow  she 
rained  on  him,  and  one  on  the  chin  made 
him  stagger.  He  could  not  hit  back,  so 
he  closed  in,  and  then  it  was  cavewoman 
and  caveman.  He  expected  her  to  bite 
again  and  scratch,  but  she  did  neither — 
nor  did  she  cry  for  help.  She  kept  on 
like  a  man,  and  after  one  blow  in  his 
stomach  which  made  him  sick  she 
grappled  like  a  wrestler,  which  she  was, 
and  but  for  his  own  quickness  would 
have  thrown  him  over  her  left  knee. 
Each  was  in  the  straining  embrace  of 
16 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

the  other  now  and  her  heaving  breast 
was  crushed  against  his,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  he  stood  still. 

"This  suits  me  exactly,"  he  cackled, 
and  that  made  her  furious  and  turned 
her  woman  again.  To  keep  her  now 
from  biting  him  he  thrust  his  right  fore 
arm  under  her  chin  and  bent  her  slowly 
backward.  Her  right  fist  beat  his  mus 
cular  back  harmlessly — she  caught  him 
by  the  hair,  but  unmindful  he  bent  her 
slowly  on. 

"I'll  have  ye  killed,"  she  said  sav 
agely — "I'll  have  ye  killed";  and  then 
suddenly  he  felt  her  collapse,  submis 
sive,  and  his  lips  caught  hers. 

"Thar  now,"  he  said,  letting  her  loose; 

"you  need  a  lee  tie  tamin',  you  do,"  and 

he  turned  and  walked  slowly  away.    The 

girl    dropped    to    the    ground,    weeping. 

17 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

But  there  was  an  exultant  look  in  her 
eyes  before  she  reached  home. 

The  teacher  was  sitting  in  the  porch. 

"He  never  would  'a'  done  it,"  she 
muttered,  and  she  hardly  spoke  to  him. 

A  message  from  Jay  Dawn  reached 
the  school-teacher  the  morning  after 
the  " running  of  a  set"  at  the  settlement 
school.  Jay  had  infuriated  Allaphair  by 
his  attentions  to  Polly  Stidham  from 
Quicksand.  Allaphair  had  flirted  out 
rageously  with  Ira  Combs  the  teacher, 
and  in  turn  Jay  got  angry,  not  at  her 
but  at  the  man.  So  he  sent  word  that 
he  would  -come  down  the  next  Saturday 
and  knock  "that  mullet-headed,  mealy- 
mouthed,  spindle-shanked  rat  into  the 
middle  of  next  week,"  and  drive  him 
from  the  hills. 

18 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

"Whut  you  goin'  to  do  about  it?" 
asked  Allaphair,  secretly  thrilled.  To 
her  surprise  the  little  man  seemed  neither 
worried  nor  frightened. 

"Nothing,"  he  said,  adding  the  final 
g  with  irritating  precision;  "but  I  have 
never  backed  out  of  a  fight  in  my  life." 
Allaphair  could  hardly  hold  back  a  hoot 
of  contempt. 

"Why,  he'll  break  you  to  pieces  with 
his  hands." 

"Perhaps — if  he  gets  hold  of  me." 
The  girl  almost  shrieked. 

"You  hain't  going  to  run?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  run;  it's  no  dis 
grace  to  get  licked." 

"But  if  he  crows  over  ye  atter wards — 
whut'll  you  do  then?" 

The  teacher  made  no  answer,  nor  did 
he  answer  Jay's  message.  He  merely 
19 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

went  his  way,  which  was  neither  to 
avoid  nor  seek;  so  Jay  sought  him. 
Allaphair  saw  him  the  next  Friday  after 
noon,  waiting  by  the  roadside — waiting, 
no  doubt,  for  Ira  Combs.  Her  first  im 
pulse  was  to  cross  over  the  spur  and 
warn  the  teacher,  but  curiosity  as  to 
just  what  the  little  man  would  do  got 
the  better  of  her,  and  she  slipped  aside 
into  the  bushes  and  crept  noiselessly  to 
a  spot  whence  she  could  peer  out  and 
see  and  hear  all  that  might  happen. 
Soon  she  saw  the  school-teacher  coming, 
as  was  his  wont,  leisurely,  looking  at 
the  ground  at  his  feet  and  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back.  He  did  not 
see  the  threatening  figure  waiting  until 
Jay  rose. 

"Stop    thar,    little    Iry,"    he    sneered, 
and   he   whipped   out   his   revolver   and 
20 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

fired.  The  girl  nearly  screamed,  but  the 
bullet  cut  into  the  dust  near  Ira's  right 
foot. 

"Yuh  danced  purty  well  t'other  night, 
an'  I  want  to  see  ye  dance  some  more 
by  yo'self.  Git  at  it!"  He  raised  his 
gun  again  and  the  school-teacher  raised 
one  hand.  He  had  grown  very  red  and 
as  suddenly  very  pale,  but  he  did  not 
look  frightened. 

;<You  can  kill  me,"  he  drawled 
quietly,  "but  I'm  not  going  to  dance 
for  you.  Suppose  you  whoop  me  in 
stead — I  heard  that  was  your  inten 
tion."  Jay  laughed. 

"Air  ye  goin'  to  fight  me?"  he  asked 
incredulously. 

"I'd  rather  be  licked  than  dance." 

"All  right,"  said  Jay.  "I'll  lam'  ye 
aroun'  a  little  an'  spank  ye  good  an' 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

mebbe  make  ye  dance  atterwards."  He 
unbuckled  his  pistol  and  tossed  it  into 
the  grass  by  the  roadside. 

"Will  you  fight  fair?"  asked  Ira, 
still  formal  in  speech.  "No  wrestling, 
biting,  or  gouging." 

"No  wrasslin',  no  bitin',  no  gougin'," 
mimicked  Jay,  beginning  to  revolve  his 
huge  fists  around  each  other  in  country 
fashion.  The  little  man  waited,  his 
left  arm  outstretched  and  bent  and 
his  right  across  and  close  to  his  chest, 
and  the  watching  girl  almost  groaned. 
Still  his  white,  calm  face,  his  steady 
eyes,  and  his  lithe  poise  fascinated  her. 
She  would  not  let  Jay  hurt  him  badly 
— she  would  come  out  and  take  a  hand 
herself.  Jay  opened  one  fist,  and  with 
his  open  hand  made  a  powerful,  con 
temptuous  sweep  at  Ira's  head,  and  the 
girl  expected  to  see  the  little  teacher 
22 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

fly  off  into  the  bushes  and  the  fight 
over.  To  her  amazement  Ira  gave  no 
ground  at  all.  His  feet  never  moved, 
but  like  a  blacksnake's  head  his  own 
darted  back;  Jay's  great  hand  fanned 
the  air,  and  as  his  own  force  whirled 
him  half  around,  Allaphair  had  to  hold 
back  a  screech  of  laughter,  for  Ira  had 
slapped  him.  Jay  looked  puzzled,  but 
with  fists  clinched,  he  rushed  fiercely. 
Right  and  left  he  swung,  but  the  teacher 
was  never  there.  Presently  there  was 
another  stinging  smack  on  his  cheek  and 
another,  as  Ira  danced  about  him  like 
the  shadow  of  a  magic  lantern. 

"He's  a-tirin'  him  down,"  thought 
Allaphair,  but  she  was  wrong;  Ira  was 
trying  to  make  him  mad,  and  that  did 
not  take  much  time  or  trouble.  Jay 
rushed  him. 

"No  wrasslin',"  called  Ira  quietly,  at 
23 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

the  same  time  stopping  the  rush  with 
a  left-hand  swing  on  Jay's  chin  that 
made  the  head  wabble. 

"I  reckon  he  must  be  left-handed," 
thought  the  wondering  Allaphair.  There 
are  persons  who  literally  do  grind  their 
teeth  with  rage  and  it  is  audible.  The 
girl  heard  Jay's  now. 

"He's  goin'  to  kill  him,"  she  thought, 
and  she  got  ready  to  do  her  part,  for 
with  a  terrible,  hoarse  grunt  Jay  had 
rushed.  Like  a  greased  rod  of  steel  the 
boy  writhed  loose  from  the  big,  crooked 
talons  that  reached  for  his  throat,  and 
his  right  fist,  knobbed  on  the  end  of 
another  bar  of  steel,  came  up  under 
Jay's  bent  head  with  every  ounce  of 
the  whole  weight  behind  it  in  the 
blow.  It  caught  the  big  man  on  the 
point  of  the  chin.  Jay's  head  snapped 
24 


THE   COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

up  and  back  violently,  his  feet  left  the 
ground,  and  his  big  body  thudded  the 
road. 

"My  God,  he's  knocked  him  down! 
My  God,  he's  knocked  him  down!" 
muttered  the  amazed  girl.  "You  got 
him  down!"  she  cried.  "Jump  on  him 
an'  stomp  him  !"  He  turned  one  startled 
look  toward  her  and — it  is  incredible — 
the  look  even  at  that  moment  was  shy; 
but  he  stood  still,  for  Ira  had  picked 
up  the  ethics  as  well  as  the  skill  of  the 
art,  of  which  nothing  was  known  in 
Happy  Valley  or  elsewhere  in  the  hills. 
So  he  stood  still,  his  hands  open,  and 
waited.  For  a  while  Jay  did  not  move, 
and  his  eyes,  when  they  did  open,  looked 
dazed.  He  rose  slowly,  and  as  things 
came  back  to  him  his  face  became  sud 
denly  distorted.  Nothing  alive  could 
25 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

humiliate  him  that  way  and  still  live; 
he  meant  to  kill  now. 

"Look  out!"  screamed  the  girl.  Jay 
rushed  for  the  gun  and  Ira  darted  after 
him;  but  there  was  a  quicker  flash 
from  the  bushes,  and  Jay  found  his 
own  gun  pointed  at  his  own  breast  and 
behind  it  Allaphair's  black  eyes  sear 
ing  him. 

"Huh!"  she  grunted  contemptuously, 
and  the  silence  was  absolute  while  she 
broke  the  pistol,  emptied  the  cartridges 
into  her  hand,  and  threw  them  far  over 
into  the  bushes. 

"Less  go  on  home,  Try,"  she  said, 
and  a  few  steps  away  she  turned  and 
tossed  the  gun  at  Jay's  feet.  He  stooped, 
picked  it  up,  and,  twirling  it  in  his  hand, 
looked  foolishly  after  them.  Presently 
he  grinned,  for  at  bottom  Jay  was  a 


"  You  got  him  down  !  "   she  cried.      "  Jump  on  him  an' 
stomp  him  !  " 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 

man.  And  two  hours  later,  amid  much 
wonder  and  many  guffaws,  he  was  tell 
ing  the  tale: 

"The  damned  leetle  spindle-shank 
licked  me — licked  me !  An'  I'll  back 
him  agin  anybody  in  Happy  Valley  or 
anywhar  else — ef  you  leave  out  bitin', 
gougin',  and  wrasslin'." 

"Did  ye  lose  yo'  gal,  too?"  asked 
Pleasant  Trouble. 

"Huh!"  said  Jay,  "I  reckon  not— 
she  knows  her  boss." 

The  two  walked  home  slowly  and  in 
silence — Ira  in  front  and  Allaphair,  as 
does  the  woman  in  the  hills,  following 
close  behind,  in  a  spirit  quite  foreign 
to  her  hitherto.  The  little  school-teacher 
had  turned  shy  again  and  said  never  a 
word,  but,  as  he  opened  the  gate  to  let 
27 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

her  pass  through,  she  saw  the  old,  old, 
telltale  look  in  his  sombre  eyes.  Her 
mother  was  crooning  in  the  porch. 

"No  ploughin'  termorrer,  mammy. 
Me  an'  Iry  want  the  ole  nag  to  go  down 
to  the  Count  House  in  the  mornin'. 
Iry's  axed  me  to  marry  him."/ 

Perhaps  every  woman  does  not  love 
a  master — perhaps  Allaphair  had  found 
hers. 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


rTlHE  boy  had  come  home  for   Sun- 
-*•     day  and  must  go  back  now  to  the 
Mission  school.     He  picked  up  his  bat 
tered  hat  and  there  was  no  good-by. 

"I  reckon  I  better  be  goin',"  he  said, 
and  out  he  walked.  The  mother  barely 
raised  her  eyes,  but  after  he  was  gone 
she  rose  and  from  the  low  doorway 
looked  after  his  sturdy  figure  trudging 
up  the  road.  His  whistle,  as  clear  as 
the  call  of  a  quail,  filled  her  ears  for  a 
while  and  then  was  buried  beyond  the 
hill.  A  smaller  lad  clutched  her  black 
skirt,  whimpering: 

"  Wisht  I  c'd  go  to  the  Mission  school." 
"Thar  hain't  room,"  she  said  shortly. 
31 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"The  teacher  says  thar  hain't  room.  I 
wish  to  God  thar  was." 

Still  whistling,  the  boy  trudged  on. 
Now  and  then  he  would  lift  his  shrill 
voice  and  the  snatch  of  an  old  hymn  or 
a  folk-song  would  float  through  the 
forest  and  echo  among  the  crags  above 
him.  It  was  a  good  three  hours'  walk 
whither  he  was  bound,  but  in  less  than 
an  hour  he  stopped  where  a  brook  tum 
bled  noisily  from  a  steep  ravine  and 
across  the  road — stopped  and  looked 
up  the  thick  shadows  whence  it  came. 
Hesitant,  he  stood  on  one  foot  and  then 
on  the  other,  with  a  wary  look  down  the 
road  and  up  the  ravine. 

"I  said  I'd  try  to  git  back,"  he  said 
aloud.  "I  said  I'd  try." 

And  with  this  self-excusing  sophistry 
he  darted  up  the  brook.  The  banks 
32 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 

were  steep  and  thickly  meshed  with 
rhododendron,  from  which  hemlock  shot 
like  black  arrows  upward,  but  the  boy 
threaded  through  them  like  a  snake. 
His  breast  was  hardly  heaving  when 
he  reached  a  small  plateau  hundreds  of 
feet  above  the  road,  where  two  branches 
of  the  stream  met  from  narrower  ravines 
right  and  left.  To  the  right  he  climbed, 
not  up  the  bed  of  the  stream,  but  to  the 
top  of  a  little  spur,  along  which  he  went 
slowly  and  noiselessly,  stooping  low.  A 
little  farther  on  he  dropped  on  his  knees 
and  crawled  to  the  edge  of  a  cliff,  where 
he  lay  flat  on  his  belly  and  peeked  over. 
Below  him  one  Jeb  Mullins,  a  stooping, 
gray  old  man,  was  stirring  something  in 
a  great  brass  kettle.  A  tin  cup  was 
going  the  round  of  three  men  squatting 
near.  On  a  log  two  men  were  playing 
33 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

with  greasy  cards,  and  near  them  an 
other  lay  in  drunken  sleep.  The  boy 
grinned,  slid  down  through  the  bushes, 
and,  deepening  his  voice  all  he  could, 
shouted : 

"Throw  up  yo' hands!'' 

The  old  man  flattened  behind  the 
big  kettle  with  his  pistol  out.  One  of 
the  four  men  leaped  for  a  tree — the 
others  shot  up  their  hands.  The  card- 
players  rolled  over  the  bank  near  them, 
with  no  thought  of  where  they  would 
land,  and  the  drunken  man  slept  on. 
The  boy  laughed  loudly. 

"Don't  shoot!"  he  cried,  and  he 
came  through  the  bushes  jeering.  The 
men  at  the  still  dropped  their  hands 
and  looked  sheepish  and  then  angry, 
as  did  the  card-players,  whose  faces  re 
appeared  over  the  edge  of  the  bank. 
34 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 

But  the  old  man  and  the  young  one  be 
hind  the  tree,  who  alone  had  got  ready 
to  fight,  joined  in  with  the  boy,  and 
the  others  had  to  look  sheepish  again. 

"Come  on,  Chris !"  said  the  old  moon 
shiner,  dipping  the  cup  into  the  white 
liquor  and  handing  it  forth  full,  "Hit's 


on  me." 


Christmas  is  "new  Christmas"  in 
Happy  Valley.  The  women  give  scant 
heed  to  it,  and  to  the  men  it  means  "a 
jug  of  liquor,  a  pistol  in  each  hand,  and 
a  galloping  nag."  There  had  been  tar 
get-shooting  at  Uncle  Jerry's  mill  to 
see  who  should  drink  old  Jeb  Mullins's 
moonshine  and  who  should  smell,  and 
so  good  was  the  marksmanship  that 
nobody  went  without  his  dram.  The 
carousing,  dancing,  and  fighting  were 
35 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

about  all  over,  and  now,  twelve  days 
later,  it  was  the  dawn  of  "old  Christ 
mas,"  and  St.  Hilda  sat  on  the  porch 
of  her  Mission  school  alone.  The  old 
folks  of  Happy  Valley  pay  puritan  heed 
to  "old  Christmas."  They  eat  cold 
food  and  preserve  a  solemn  demeanor 
on  that  day,  and  they  have  the  pretty 
legend  that  at  midnight  the  elders  bloom 
and  the  beasts  of  the  field  and  the  cattle 
in  the  barn  kneel,  lowing  and  moan 
ing.  The  sun  was  just  rising  and  the 
day  was  mild,  for  a  curious  warm  spell, 
not  uncommon  in  the  hills,  had  come  to 
Happy  Valley.  Already  singing  little 
workers  were  "toting  rocks"  from  St. 
Hilda's  garden,  corn-field,  and  vineyard, 
for  it  was  Monday,  and  every  Monday 
they  gathered — boys  and  girls — from 
creek  and  hillside,  to  help  her  as  volun- 
36 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 

teers.  Far  up  the  road  she  heard  among 
them  taunting  laughter  and  jeers,  and 
she  rose  quickly.  A  loud  oath  shocked 
the  air,  and  she  saw  a  boy  chasing  one 
of  the  workers  up  the  vineyard  hill. 
She  saw  the  pursuer  raise  his  hand  and 
fall,  just  as  he  was  about  to  hurl  a  stone. 
Then  there  were  more  laughter  and 
jeers,  and  the  fallen  boy  picked  himself 
up  heavily  and  started  down  the  road 
toward  her — staggering.  On  he  came 
staggering,  and  when  he  stood  sway 
ing  before  her  there  was  no  shocked 
horror  in  her  face — only  pity  and 
sorrow. 

"Oh,  Chris,  Chris!"  she  said  sadly. 
The  boy  neither  spoke  nor  lifted  his 
eyes,  and  she  led  him  up-stairs  and  put 
him  to  bed.  All  day  he  slept  in  a  stupor, 
and  it  was  near  sunset  when  he  came 
37 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

down,  pale,  shamed,  and  silent.    There 
were  several  children  in  the  porch. 

"Come,  Chris  !"  St.  Hilda  said,  and  he 
followed  her  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
creek,  where  she  sat  down  on  a  log  and 
he  stood  with  hanging  head  before  her. 

"Chris,"  she  said,  "we'll  have  a  plain 
talk  now.  This  is  the  fourth  time  you've 
been" — the  word  came  with  difficulty — 
"drunk." 

"Yes'm." 

"I've  sent  you  away  three  times,  and 
three  times  I've  let  you  come  back.  I 
let  you  come  back  after  new  Christ 
mas,  only  twelve  days  ago." 

"Yes'm." 

"You  can't  keep  your  word." 

"No'm." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do  now,  so 
I'm  going  to  ask  you." 
38 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 

She  paused  and  Chris  was  silent,  but 
he  was  thinking,  and  she  waited.  Pres 
ently  he  looked  straight  into  her  eyes, 
still  silent. 

"What  do  you  think  I'd  better  do?" 
she  insisted. 

"I  reckon  you  got  to  whoop  me, 
Miss  Hildy." 

"But  you  know  I  can't  whip  you, 
Chris.  I  never  whip  anybody." 

Several  times  a  child  had  offered  to 
whip  himself,  had  done  so,  and  she 
wondered  whether  the  boy  would  pro 
pose  that,  but  he  repeated,  obstinately 
and  hopelessly: 

''You  got  to  whoop  me." 

"I  won't— I  can't."  Then  an  idea 
came.  ''Your  mother  will  have  to  whip 
you." 

Chris  shook  his  head  and  was  silent. 
39 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

\ 

He  was  not  on  good  terms  with  his 
mother.  It  was  a  current  belief  that 
she  had  "put  pizen  in  his  daddy's  liquer." 
She  had  then  married  a  man  younger 
than  she  was,  and  to  the  boy's  mind 
the  absence  of  dignity  in  one  case 
matched  the  crime  in  the  other. 

"All  right,"  he  said  at  last;  "but  I 
reckon  you  better  send  somebody  else 
atter  her.  You  can't  trust  me  to  git 
by  that  still" — he  stopped  with  a  half- 
uttered  oath  of  surprise: 

"Lookthar!" 

A  woman  was  coming  up  the  road. 
She  wore  a  black  cotton  dress  and  a 
black  sunbonnet — mourning  relics  for 
the  dead  husband  which  the  living  one 
had  never  had  the  means  to  supplant — 
and  rough  shoes.  She  pushed  back  the 
bonnet  with  one  nervous,  bony  hand, 
saw  the  two  figures  on  the  edge  of 
40 


THE   COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 

the  creek,  and  without  any  gesture  or 
call  came  toward  them.  And  only  the 
woman's  quickness  in  St.  Hilda  saw  the 
tense  anxiety  of  the  mother's  face  re 
lax.  The  boy  saw  nothing;  he  was  only 
amazed. 

"Why,  mammy,  whut  the — whut  are 
you  doin'  up  hyeh?" 

The  mother  did  not  answer,  and  St. 
Hilda  saw  that  she  did  not  want  to 
answer.  St.  Hilda  rose  with  a  warm 
smile  of  welcome. 

"So  this  is  Chris's  mother?" 

The  woman  shook  hands  limply. 

"Hit's  whut  I  passes  fer,"  she  said, 
and  she  meant  neither  smartness  nor 
humor.  The  boy  was  looking  wonder- 
ingly,  almost  suspiciously  at  her,  and 
she  saw  she  must  give  him  some  ex 
planation. 

"I  been  wantin'  to  see  the  school 
41 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

hyeh  an'  Miss  Hildy.  I  had  to  come 
up  to  see  Aunt  Sue  Morrow,  who's 
might'  nigh  gone,  so  I  jes  kep'  a-walkin' 
on  up  hyeh." 

"Miss  Hildy  hyeh,"  said  the  boy, 
"was  jes  about  to  send  fer  ye." 

"To  sen'  fer  me?" 

"I  been  drunk  agin." 

The  mother  showed  no  surprise  or 
displeasure. 

"Hit's  the  fourth  time  since  sorghum 
time,"  the  boy  went  on  relentlessly. 
"I  axed  Miss  Hildy  hyeh  to  whoop 
me,  but  she  says  she  don't  nuver 
whoop  nobody,  so  she  was  jes  a-goin' 
to  send  fer  you  to  come  an'  whoop 
me  when  you  come  a-walkin'  up  the 
road." 

This  was  all,  and  the  lad  pulled  out  an 
old  Barlow  knife  and  went  to  a  hickory 
42 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 

sapling.  The  two  women  watched  him 
silently  as  he  cut  off  a  stout  switch  and' 
calmly  began  to  trim  it.  At  last  the 
woman  turned  to  the  teacher  and  her 
voice  trembled. 

"I  don't  see  Chris  thar  more'n  once 
or  twice  a  year,  an'  seems  kind  o'  hard 
that  I  got  to  whoop  him." 

The  boy  turned  sharply,  and  help 
lessly  she  took  the  switch. 

"And  hit  hain't  his  fault  nohow. 
His  stepdaddy  got  him  drunk.  He 
tol'  me  so  when  he  come  home.  I  went 
by  the  still  to  find  Chris  an'  cuss  out 
ole  Jeb  Mullins  an'  the  men  thar.  An' 
I  come  on  hyeh." 

"Set  down  a  minute,  mammy,"  said 
Chris,  dropping  on  the  log  on  one  side 
of  St.  Hilda,  and  obediently  the  mother 
sat  down  on  the  other  side. 
43 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"Mammy,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I'll 
stop  drinkin'  if  you  will." 

St.  Hilda  almost  gasped.  The  woman 
lifted  her  eyes  to  the  mountainside  and 
dropped  her  gaze  presently  to  her  hands, 
which  were  twisting  the  switch  in  her 
lap. 

"I'll  stop  if  you  will,"  he  repeated. 

"I'll  try,  Chris,"  she  said,  but  she 
did  not  look  up. 

"  Gimme  yo'  hand." 

Across  St.  Hilda's  lap  she  stretched 
one  shaking  hand,  which  the  boy 
clasped. 

"Put  yo'  hand  on  thar,  too,  Miss 
Hildy,"  he  said,  and  when  he  felt  the 
pressure  of  her  big,  strong,  white  hand 
for  a  moment  he  got  up  quickly  and 
turned  his  face. 

"All  right,  mammy." 
44 


Mammy,"   he  said  abruptly,   "  I'll  stop  drinkin'  if  you  will. 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 

St.  Hilda  rose,  too,  and  started  for 
the  house — her  eyes  so  blurred  that 
she  could  hardly  see  the  path.  Mid 
way  she  wheeled. 

"Don't!  "she  cried. 

The  mother  was  already  on  her  way 
home,  breaking  the  switch  to  pieces 
and  hiding  her  face  within  the  black 
sunbonnet.  The  boy  was  staring  after 
her. 


45 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 

fTlHE  blacksmith-shop  sat  huddled 
-*•  by  the  roadside  at  the  mouth  of 
Wolf  Run — a  hut  of  blackened  boards. 
The  rooftree  sagged  from  each  gable 
down  to  the  crazy  chimney  in  the 
centre,  and  the  smoke  curled  up  be 
tween  the  clapboard  shingles  or,  as  the 
wind  listed,  out  through  the  cracks  of 
any  wall.  It  was  a  bird-singing,  light- 
flashing  morning  in  spring,  and  Lum 
Chapman  did  things  that  would  have 
set  all  Happy  Valley  to  wondering.  A 
bareheaded,  yellow-haired  girl  rode  down 
Wolf  Run  on  an  old  nag.  She  was 
perched  on  a  sack  of  corn,  and  she  gave 
Lum  a  shy  "how-dye"  when  she  saw 
49 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

him  through  the  wide  door.  Lum's 
great  forearm  eased,  the  bellows  flattened 
with  a  long,  slow  wheeze,  and  he  went 
to  the  door  and  looked  after  her.  Pro 
fessionally  he  noted  that  one  hind  shoe 
of  the  old  nag  was  loose  and  that  the 
other  was  gone.  Then  he  went  back  to 
his  work.  It  would  not  be  a  busy  day 
with  Uncle  Jerry  at  the  mill — there 
would  not  be  more  than  one  or  two 
ahead  of  her  and  her  meal  would  soon 
be  ground.  Several  times  he  quit  work 
to  go  to  the  door  and  look  down  the 
road,  and  finally  he  saw  her  coming. 
Again  she  gave  him  a  shy  "how-dye," 
and  his  eyes  followed  her  up  Wolf  Run 
until  she  was  out  of  sight. 

The  miracle  these  simple  acts  would 
have  been  to  others  was  none  to  him. 
He  was  hardly  self-conscious,  much  less 
50 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 

analytical,    and    he    went    back    to    his 
work  again. 

A  little  way  up  that  creek  Lum  him 
self  lived  in  a  log  cabin,  and  he  lived 
alone.  This  in  itself  was  as  rare  as  a 
miracle  in  the  hills,  and  the  reason, 
while  clear,  was  still  a  mystery:  Lum 
had  never  been  known  to  look  twice 
at  the  same  woman.  He  was  big,  kind, 
taciturn,  ox-eyed,  calm.  He  was  so 
good-natured  that  anybody  could  banter 
him,  but  nobody  ever  carried  it  too 
far  except  a  bully  from  an  adjoining 
county  one  court  day.  Lum  picked 
him  up  bodily  and  dashed  him  to  the 
ground  so  that  blood  gushed  from  his 
nose  and  he  lay  there  bewildered,  white, 
and  still.  Lum  rarely  went  to  church, 
and  he  never  talked  religion,  politics, 
or  neighborhood  gossip.  He  was  really 
51 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

thought  to  be  quite  stupid,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  he  could  make  lightning 
calculations  about  crops,  hogs,  and  cattle 
in  his  head.  However,  one  man  knew 
better,  but  he  was  a  "furriner,"  a  geol 
ogist,  a  "rock-pecker"  from  the  Blue- 
grass.  To  him  Lum  betrayed  an  un 
canny  eye  in  discovering  coal  signs  and 
tracing  them  to  their  hidden  beds,  and 
wide  and  valuable  knowledge  of  the 
same.  Once  the  foreigner  lost  his  barom 
eter  just  when  he  was  trying  to  locate 
a  coal  vein  on  the  side  of  the  mountain 
opposite.  Two  days  later  Lum  pointed 
to  a  ravine  across  the  valley. 

"You'll  find  that  coal  not  fer  from 
the  bottom  o'  that  big  poplar  over 
thar."  The  geologist  stared,  but  he 
went  across  and  found  the  coal  and 
came  back  mystified. 
52 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 

"How'dyoudoit?" 

Lum  led  him  up  Wolf  Run.  Where 
the  vein  showed  by  the  creek-side  Lum 
had  built  a  little  dam,  and  when  the 
water  ran  even  with  the  mud-covered 
stones  he  had  turned  the  stream  aside. 
The  geologist  lay  down,  sighted  across 
the  surface  of  the  water,  and  his  eye 
caught  the  base  of  the  big  poplar. 

"Hit's  the  Lord's  own  level,"  said 
Lum,  and  back  he  went  to  his  work,  the 
man  looking  after  him  and  muttering: 

"The  Lord's  own  level." 

Hardly  knowing  it,  Lum  waited  for 
grinding  day.  There  was  the  same  ex 
change  of  "how-dyes"  between  him  and 
the  girl,  going  and  coming,  and  Lum 
noted  that  the  remaining  hind  shoe  was 
gone  from  the  old  nag  and  that  one  of 
the  front  ones  was  going.  This  too  was 
53 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

gone  the  next  time  she  passed,  and  for 
the  first  time  Lum  spoke: 

"Yo'  hoss  needs  shoein'." 

"She  ain't  wuth  it,"  said  the  girl. 
Two  hours  later,  when  the  girl  came 
back,  Lum  took  up  the  conversation 
again. 

"Oh,  yes,  she  is,"  he  drawled,  and 
the  girl  slid  from  her  sack  of  meal  and 
watched  him,  which  she  could  do  fear 
lessly,  for  Lum  never  looked  at  her. 
He  had  never  asked  her  name  and  he 
did  not  ask  her  now. 

"I'm  Jeb  Mullins's  gal,"  she  said. 
"Pap'll  be  comin'  'long  hyeh  some  day 
an'  pay  ye." 

"My  name's  Lum — Lum  Chapman." 

"They  calls  me  Marthy." 

He  lifted  her  bag  to  the  horse's  bony 
withers  with  one  hand,  but  he  did  not 
54 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 

offer  to  help  her  mount.  He  watched 
her  again  as  she  rode  away,  and  when 
she  looked  back  he  turned  with  a  queer 
feeling  into  his  shop.  Two  days  later 
Jeb  Mullins  came  by. 

"Whad'  I  owe  ye?"  he  asked. 

"NothinV  said  Lum  gruffly. 

The  next  day  the  old  man  brought 
down  a  broken  plough  on  his  shoulder, 
and  to  the  same  question  he  got  the 
same  answer: 

"Nothin'."  So  he  went  back  and 
teased  Martha,  who  blushed  when  she 
next  passed  the  door  of  the  shop,  and 
this  time  Lum  did  not  go  out  to  watch 
her  down  the  road. 

Sunday  following,   Parson  Small,  the 

circuit-rider,    preached    in    the    open-air 

"mee tin' -house,"   that  had  the  sky  for 

a    roof    and    blossoming    rhododendron 

55 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

for  walls,  and — wonder  of  wonders — 
Lum  Chapman  was  there.  In  the  rear 
he  sat,  and  everybody  turned  to  look 
at  Lum.  So  simple  was  he  that  the 
reason  of  his  presence  was  soon  plain, 
for  he  could  no  more  keep  his  eyes  from 
the  back  of  Martha  Mullins's  yellow 
head  than  a  needle  could  keep  its  point 
from  the  North  Pole.  The  circuit-rider 
on  his  next  circuit  would  preach  the 
funeral  services  of  Uncle  Billy  Hall, 
who  had  been  dead  ten  years,  and  Uncle 
Billy  would  be  draped  with  all  the  vir 
tues  that  so  few  men  have  when  alive 
and  that  so  few  lack  when  dead.  He 
would  marry  such  couples  as  might  to 
marriage  be  inclined.  There  were  pecu 
liar  customs  in  Happy  Valley,  due  to  the 
"  rider's  "  long  absences,  so  that  some 
times  a  baby  might  without  shame  be 
56 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 

present  at  the  wedding  of  its  own 
parents.  To  be  sure,  Lum's  eyes  did 
swerve  once  when  the  preacher  spoke 
of  marriage — swerved  from  where  the 
women  sat  to  where  sat  the  men — to 
young  Jake  Kilburn,  called  Devil  Jake, 
a  name  of  which  he  was  rather  proud; 
for  Martha's  eyes  had  swerved  to  him 
too,  and  Jake  shot  back  a  killing  glance 
and  began  twisting  his  black  mus 
tache. 

And  then  the  preacher  told  about  the 
woman  whom  folks  once  stoned. 

Lum  listened  dully  and  waited  help 
lessly  around  at  the  end  of  the  meeting 
until  he  saw  Martha  and  Jake  go  down 
the  road  together,  Martha  shy  and  con 
scious  and  Jake  the  conquering  dare 
devil  that  he  was  known  to  be  among 
women.  Lum  went  back  to  his  cabin, 
57 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

cooked  his  dinner,  and  sat  down  in  his 
doorway  to  whittle  and  dream. 

Lum  went  to  church  no  more.  When 
Martha  passed  his  shop,  the  same  "how- 
dye"  passed  between  them  and  no  more. 
Twice  the  circuit-rider  came  and  went 
and  Martha  and  Devil  Jake  did  not 
ask  his  services.  A  man  who  knew 
Jake's  record  in  another  county  started 
a  dark  rumor  which  finally  reached  Lum 
and  sent  him  after  the  daredevil.  But 
Jake  had  fled  and  Lum  followed  him 
almost  to  the  edge  of  the  bluegrass 
country,  to  find  that  Jake  had  a  wife 
and  child.  He  had  meant  to  bring 
Jake  back  to  his  duty,  but  he  merely 
beat  him  up,  kicked  him  to  one  side  of 
the  road  like  a  dog,  and  came  back  to 
his  shop. 

Old  Jeb  Mullins  came  by  thereafter 
58 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 

with  the  old  nag  and  the  sack  of  corn, 
and  Lum  went  on  doing  little  jobs  for 
him  for  nothing,  for  Jeb  was  a  skinflint, 
a  moonshiner,  and  a  mean  old  man. 
He  did  not  turn  Martha  out  of  his  hut, 
because  he  was  callous  and  because 
he  needed  her  to  cook  and  to  save 
him  work  in  the  garden  and  corn-field. 
Martha  stayed  closely  at  home,  but 
she  was  treated  so  kindly  by  some  of 
the  neighbors  that  once  she  ventured 
to  go  to  church.  Then  she  knew  from 
the  glances,  whispers,  and  gigglings  of 
the  other  girls  just  where  she  stood, 
and  she  was  not  seen  again  very  far 
from  her  own  door.  It  was  a  long  time 
before  Lum  saw  her  again,  so  long,  in 
deed,  that  when  at  last  he  saw  her  coming 
down  Wolf  Run  on  a  sack  of  corn  she 
carried  a  baby  in  her  arms.  She  did 
59 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

not  look  up  as  she  approached,  and 
when  she  passed  she  turned  her  head 
and  did  not  speak  to  him.  So  Lum 
sat  where  he  was  and  waited  for  her 
to  come  back,  and  she  knew  he  had 
been  waiting  as  soon  as  she  saw  him. 
She  felt  him  staring  at  her  even  when 
she  turned  her  head,  and  she  did  not 
look  up  until  the  old  nag  stopped.  Lum 
was  barring  the  way. 

"YoJ  boss  needs  shoein',"  he  said 
gravely,  and  from  her  lap  he  took  the 
baby  unafraid.  Indeed,  the  child  dim 
pled  and  smiled  at  him,  and  the  little 
arm  around  his  neck  gave  him  a  curious 
shiver  that  ran  up  the  back  of  his  head 
and  down  his  spine.  The  shoeing  was 
quickly  done,  and  in  absolute  silence, 
but  when  they  started  up  Wolf  Run 
Lum  went  with  them. 
60 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 

"Come  by  my  shack  a  minit,"  he 
said. 

The  girl  said  nothing;  that  in  itself 
would  be  another  scandal,  of  course, 
but  what  was  the  difference  what  folks 
might  say?  At  his  cabin  he  reached 
up  and  lifted  mother  and  child  from 
the  old  nag,  and  the  girl's  hair  brushed 
his  cheek. 

"You  stay  hyeh  with  the  baby,"  he 
said  quietly,  "an*  I'll  take  yo'  meal 
home."  She  looked  at  him  with  min 
gled  trust  and  despair.  What  was  the 
difference  ? 

It  was  near  sundown  when  Lum  got 
back.  Smoke  was  coming  out  of  his 
rickety  chimney,  and  the  wail  of  an  old 
ballad  reached  his  ears.  Singing,  the 
girl  did  not  hear  him  coming,  and  through 
the  open  door  he  saw  that  the  room  had 
61 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

been  tidied  up  and  that  she  was  cooking 
supper.  The  baby  was  playing  on  the 
floor.  She  turned  at  the  creak  of  his 
footstep  on  the  threshold  and  for  the 
first  time  she  spoke. 

"Supper '11  be  ready  in  a  minit." 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  seated  at 
the  table  alone  and  the  girl,  with  the 
baby  on  one  arm,  was  waiting  on  him. 
By  and  by  he  pushed  back  his  chair, 
pulled  out  his  pipe,  and  sat  down  in  the 
doorway.  Dusk  was  coming.  In  the 
shadowy  depths  below  a  wood-thrush 
was  fluting  his  last  notes  for  that  day. 
Then  for  the  first  time  each  called  the 
other  by  name. 

"Marthy,  the  circuit-rider'll  be  'roun' 
two  weeks  from  next  Sunday." 

"All  right,  Lum." 


THE  MARQUISE   OF 
QUEENSBERRY 


THE  MARQUISE  OF 
QUEENSBERRY 

fTHHUS    it   had    happened.      Pleasant 
*-     Trouble   was  drunk  one   day  and 
a  fly  lit  on  his  knee.     He  whipped  his 
forty -four  from  its  holster. 

"I'll  show  ye  who  you  air  lightin' 
on!"  he  swore,  and  blazed  away.  Of 
course  he  killed  the  fly,  but  incidentally 
he  shattered  its  lighting-place.  Had  he 
been  in  a  trench  anywhere  in  France, 
his  leg  would  have  been  saved,  but  he 
was  away  out  in  the  Kentucky  hills. 
If  he  minded  the  loss  of  it,  however, 
no  one  could  see,  for  with  chin  up  and 
steady,  daredevil  eyes  he  swung  along 
about  as  well  on  his  crutch  as  if  it  had 
65 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

been  a  good  leg.  Down  the  road,  close 
to  the  river's  brim,  he  was  swinging  now 
— his  voice  lifted  in  song.  Ahead  of 
him  and  just  around  the  curve  of  the 
road,  with  the  sun  of  Happy  Valley 
raining  its  last  gold  on  her  golden  bare 
head,  walked  the  Marquise;  but  neither 
Pleasant  nor  she  herself  knew  she  was 
the  Marquise.  A  few  minutes  later 
the  girl  heard  the  crunch  of  the  crutch 
in  the  sandy  road  behind  her,  and  she 
turned  with  a  smile: 

"How-dye,  Pleaz!"  The  man  caught 
the  flapping  brim  of  his  slouch-hat  and 
lifted  it — an  act  of  courtesy  that  he  had 
learned  only  after  Happy  Valley  was 
blessed  by  the  advent  of  the  Mission 
school:  making  it,  he  was  always  embar 
rassed  no  little. 

"How-dye,  Miss  Mary !" 
66 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

"Going  down  to  the  dance?" 
"No'm,"    he    said    with    vigorous    se 
verity,  and  then  with  unctuous  virtue — 
"I  hain't  nuver  run  a  set  or  played  a 
play  in  my  life." 

The  word  "dance"  is  taboo  among 
these  Calvinists  of  the  hills.  They  "run 
sets"  and  "play  plays" — and  these  are 
against  the  sterner  morals  that  prevail 
— but  they  do  not  dance.  The  Mission 
teacher  smiled.  This  was  a  side-light 
on  the  complex  character  of  Pleasant 
Trouble  that  she  had  not  known  before, 
and  she  knew  it  had  nothing  to  do  with 
his  absent  leg.  A  hundred  yards  ahead  of 
them  a  boy  and  a  girl  emerged  from  a 
ravine — young  King  Camp  and  Polly  Size- 
more — and  plainly  they  were  quarrelling. 
The  girl's  head  was  high  with  indigna 
tion;  the  boy's  was  low  with  anger, 
67 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

and  now  and  then  he  would  viciously 
dig  the  toe  of  his  boot  in  the  sand  as 
he  strode  along.  Pleasant  grinned. 

"I  won't  holler  to  'em,"  he  said;  "I 
reckon  they'd  ruther  be  alone." 

"Pleasant,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "y°u 
drink  moonshine,  don't  you?" 

"Yes'm." 

"You  sometimes  make  it,  don't  you?" 

"I've  been  s'picioned." 

"You  were  turned  out  of  church  once, 
weren't  you,  for  shooting  up  a  meet 
ing?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  indignant  defense, 
"but  I  proved  to  'em  that  I  was  drunk, 
an'  they  tuk  me  back."  The  girl  had 
to  laugh. 

"And  yet  you  think  dancing  wrong?  " 

"Yes'm." 

The  girl  gave  it  up — so  perfunctory 
68 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

and  final  was  his  reply.  Indeed,  he 
seemed  to  have  lost  interest.  Twice 
he  had  looked  back,  and  now  he  turned 
again.  She  saw  the  fulfilment  of  some 
prophecy  in  his  face  as  he  grunted  and 
frowned. 

"Thar  comes  Ham  Cage,"  he  said. 
Turning,  the  girl  saw  an  awkward  youth 
stepping  into  the  road  from  the  same 
ravine  whence  Polly  and  young  King  had 
come,  but  she  did  not,  as  did  Pleasant, 
see  Ham  shifting  a  revolver  from  his 
hip  to  an  inside  pocket. 

"Those  two  boys  worry  the  life  out 
of  me,"  she  said,  and  again  Pleasant 
grunted.  They  were  the  two  biggest 
boys  in  the  school,  and  in  running, 
jumping,  lifting  weights,  shooting  at 
marks,  and  even  in  working — in  every 
thing,  indeed,  except  in  books — they 
69 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

were  tireless  rivals.  And  now  they 
were  bitter  contestants  for  the  favor  of 
Polly  Sizemore — a  fact  that  Pleasant 
knew  better  than  the  Mission  girl. 

Flirts  are  rare  in  the  hills.  "If  two 
boys  meets  at  the  same  house,"  Pleasant 
once  had  told  her,  "they  jes  makes  the 
gal  say  which  one  she  likes  best,  and 
t'other  one  gits!"  But  with  the  growth 
of  the  Mission  school  had  come  a  certain 
tolerance  which  Polly  had  used  to  the 
limit.  Indeed,  St.  Hilda  had  discovered 
a  queer  reason  for  a  sudden  quickening 
of  interest  on  Polly's  part  in  her  studies. 
Polly  had  to  have  the  letters  she  got 
read  for  her,  and  the  letters  she  sent 
written  for  her,  and  thus  St.  Hilda  found 
that  at  least  three  young  men,  who  had 
gone  into  the  army  and  had  learned  to 
write,  thought — each  of  them — that  he 
70 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QTJEENSBERRY 

was  first  in  her  heart.  Polly  now  wanted 
to  learn  to  read  and  write  so  that  she 
could  keep  such  secrets  to  herself.  She 
had  been  "settin'  up"  with  Ham  Cage 
for  a  long  time,  and  now  she  was  "talkin' 
to"  young  King  Camp.  King  was  taking 
her  to  the  dance,  and  it  was  plain  to 
Pleasant  that  trouble  was  near.  He 
looked  worried. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  reckon  thar  hain't 
so  much  harm  the  way  you  school  folks 
run  sets  because  you  don't  'low  drihkin' 
or  totin'  pistols,  an'  you  make  'em  go 
home  early.  I  heerd  Miss  Hildy  is 
away — do  you  think  you  can  manage 
the  bad  uns?" 

"I  think  so,"  smiled  Miss  Mary. 

"Well,  mebbe  I  will  come  around 
to-night." 

"Come  right  along  now,"  said  the 
71 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

girl  heartily,  but  Pleasant  had  left  his 
own  guft  at  home,  so  he  shook  his  head 
and  started  up  the  mountain. 

II 

Happy  Valley  was  darkening  now. 
The  evening  star  shone  white  in  the 
last  rosy  western  flush,  and  already 
lanterns  glowed  on  the  porch  of  the 
"big  house"  where  the  dancing  was  to 
be.  From  high  in  the  shadows  a  voice 
came  down  to  the  girl: 

"I  hain't  got  a  gun  an'  I  hain't  had 
a  drink  to-day.  Hit's  a  shame  when 
Miss  Hildy's  always  a-tryin'  to  give 
us  a  good  time  she  has  to  beg  us  to  be 
have." 

The  young  folks  were  gathering  in. 
On  the  porch  she  saw  Polly  Sizemore  in 
a  chair  and  young  King  Camp  slipping 
72 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

into  the  darkness  on  the  other  side  of 
the  house.  A  few  minutes  later  Ham 
Cage  strolled  into  sight,  saw  Polly,  and 
sullenly  dropped  on  the  stone  steps  as 
far  away  from  her  as  possible.  The 
little  teacher  planned  a  course  of  action. 

"Ham,"  she  said,  as  she  passed,  "I 
want  you  to  run  the  first  set  with  me." 
Ham  stared  and  she  was  rather  startled 
by  his  flush. 

"Yes'm,"  he  stammered.  A  moment 
later  young  King  reappeared  at  the 
other  end  of  the  porch. 

"King,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  run 
the  second  set  with  me,"  and  King  too 
stared,  flushed,  and  stammered  assent, 
while  Polly  flashed  indignation  at  the 
little  teacher's  back.  It  had  been  Miss 
Mary's  plan  to  break  up  the  hill  custom 
of  one  boy  and  one  girl  dancing  together 
73 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

all  the  time — and  she  had  another  idea 
as  well. 

Pleasant  Trouble  swung  into  the  circle 
of  light  from  the  porch  just  as  the  first 
set  started,  and  he  sat  down  on  the 
stone  steps  to  look  on.  It  was  a  jolly 
dance.  Some  elderly  folks  were  there  to 
look  on,  and  a  few  married  couples  who, 
in  spite  of  Miss  Mary's  persuasions,  yet 
refused  to  take  part.  It  was  soon  plain 
that  Polly  Sizemore  and  the  little  teacher 
were  the  belles  of  the  ball,  though  of 
the  two  Polly  alone  seemed  to  realize 
it.  Pleasant  could  hardly  keep  his  eyes 
off  the  Mission  girl.  She  was  light  as 
a  feather,  her  eyes  sparkled,  her  cheeks 
grew  rosy,  her  laugh  rang  out,  and  the 
flaming  spirit  of  her  was  kindling  fires 
of  which  she  never  dreamed.  Pleasant 
saw  her  dance  first  with  Ham  and  then 
74 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

with  King,  and  he  grinned  with  swift 
recognition  of  her  purpose.  And  he 
grinned  the  more  when  he  saw  that  she 
was  succeeding  beyond  her  realization — 
saw  it  by  the  rage  in  Polly's  black  eyes, 
which  burned  now  at  Ham  and  now  at 
King,  for  Miss  Mary  had  no  further 
need  to  ask  either  of  them  to  dance — 
one  or  the  other  was  always  at  her  side. 
Indeed  the  Marquise,  without  knowing 
it,  was  making  a  pretty  triangular  mess 
of  things,  and  Pleasant  chuckled  un- 
holily — chuckled  until  he  saw  things 
were  getting  serious,  and  then  his  inner 
laughing  ceased  and  his  sharp  eyes  got 
wary  and  watchful.  For  first  Ham  and 
then  King  would  disappear  in  the  dark 
ness,  and  each  time  they  came  back 
their  faces  were  more  flushed  and  their 
dancing  was  more  furious. 
75 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

Now,  Polly  was  winging  arrows  of 
anger  at  the  little  teacher,  and  pres 
ently  Pleasant  rose  lightly  and  with 
incredible  swiftness  swung  across  the 
floor  just  as  the  climax  came.  From 
the  other  side  Polly  too  darted  forward. 
Ham  and  King  were  glaring  at  each 
other  over  the  teacher's  pretty  head — 
each  claiming  the  next  dance.  Miss 
Mary  was  opening  her  mouth  for  a  mild 
rebuke  when  the  two  boys  sprang  back, 
the  right  hand  of  each  flashing  to  his 
hip.  King  drew  first,  and  Pleasant's 
crutch  swished  down  on  his  wrist,  strik 
ing  his  pistol  to  the  floor.  Polly  had 
caught  Ham's  hand  with  both  her  own, 
and  Ham  felt  the  muzzle  of  Pleasant's 
forty -four  against  his  stomach. 

"Stop    it!"     said    Pleasant    sternly. 
"Miss  Mary  don't  like  sech  doin's." 
76 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

So  quickly  was  it  on  and  over  that 
the  teacher  hardly  realized  that  it  had 
come  on  and  was  over.  Her  bewildered 
face  paled,  but  the  color  came  back 
with  a  rush,  and  when  her  indignant 
eyes  began  their  deadly  work  Pleasant 
knew  there  was  no  further  need  of  him, 
and  he  stepped  back  as  though  to  escape 
penalty  even  for  playing  peacemaker 
in  a  way  so  rude. 

' '  You — y  ou — y  ou  two ! ' '  breathed 
Miss  Mary  helplessly,  but  only  for  a 
moment. 

"Give  me  that  gun,  Ham.  Pick  that 
one  up,  King."  Both  she  handed  to 
Pleasant,  and  then — no  torrent  came. 
She  turned  with  a  wave  of  her  hand. 

"You  can  all  go  home  now."  There 
had  been  a  moment  of  deadly  quiet,  but 
in  the  mountains  even  boys  and  girls  do 
77 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

not  take  such  events  very  seriously;  the 
hubbub  and  tittering  that  had  started 
again  ceased  again,  and  all  left  quickly 
and  quietly — all  but  the  teacher,  Pleas 
ant,  and  the  two  boys,  for  Polly  too 
was  moving  away.  King  turned  to  go 
after  her. 

"Wait  a  moment,  King,"  said  Miss 
Mary,  and  Polly  cried  fiercely:  "He 
can  stay  till  doomsday  fer  all  o'  me. 
I  hain't  goin'  with  ary  one  uv  'em." 
And  she  flirted  away. 

"I  am  not  going  to  talk  to  you  two 
boys  until  to-morrow,"  said  Miss  Mary 
firmly,  "and  then  I'm  going  to  put  a 
stop  to  all  this.  I  want  both  of  you  to 
be  here  when  school  closes.  I  want 
you  too,  Pleasant,  and  I  want  you  to 
bring  Lum  Chapman." 

Pleasant  Trouble  was  as  bewildered 
78 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

as  the  two  shamefaced  boys — did  she 
mean  to  have  him  hold  a  gun  on  the 
two  boys  while  Lum,  the  blacksmith, 
whaled  them  ? 

"  Me  ?— Lum  ?— why,  whut " 

"Never  mind — wait  till  to-morrow. 
Will  you  all  be  here?" 

"Yes'm,"  said  all. 

"Go  with  them  up  the  river,  Pleasant. 
Don't  let  them  quarrel,  and  see  that 
each  one  goes  up  his  own  creek." 

The  two  boys  moved  away  like  yoked 
oxen.  At  the  bottom  step  Pleasant 
turned  to  look  back.  Very  rigid  and 
straight  the  little  teacher  stood  under 
the  lantern,  and  the  pallor  and  distress 
of  her  face  had  given  way  to  a  look  of 
stern  determination. 

"Whew!"  he  breathed,  and  he  turned 
a  half-circle  on  his  crutch  into  the  dark. 
79 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

III 

Miss  Mary  Holden  was  a  daughter 
of  the  Old  Dominion,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Cumberland  Range,  and  she 
came,  of  course,  from  fighting  stock.  She 
had  gone  North  to  school  and  had  come 
home  horrified  by — to  put  it  mildly — 
the  Southern  tendency  to  an  occasional 
homicide.  There  had  been  a  great 
change,  to  be  sure,  within  her  young 
lifetime.  Except  under  circumstances 
that  were  peculiarly  aggravating,  gentle 
men  no  longer  peppered  each  other  on 
sight.  The  duel  was  quite  gone.  In 
deed,  the  last  one  at  the  old  university 
was  in  her  father's  time,  and  had  been, 
he  told  her,  a  fake.  A  Texan  had  chal 
lenged  another  student,  and  the  seconds 
had  loaded  the  pistols  with  blank  car- 
80 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

tridges.  After  firing  three  times  at  his 
enemy  the  Texan  threw  his  weapon 
down,  swore  that  he  could  hit  a  quarter 
every  time  at  that  distance,  pulled  forth 
two  guns  of  his  own  and  demanded 
that  they  be  used;  and  they  had  a  ter 
rible  time  appeasing  the  Westerner, 
who,  failing  in  humor,  challenged  then 
and  there  every  member  of  his  enemy's 
fraternity  and  every  member  of  his 
own.  Thereafter  it  became  the  custom 
there  and  at  other  institutions  of  learn 
ing  in  the  State  to  settle  all  disputes 
fist  and  skull;  and  of  this  Miss  Holden, 
who  was  no  pacifist,  thoroughly  ap 
proved.  Now  she  was  in  a  community 
where  the  tendency  to  kill  seemed  well- 
nigh  universal.  St.  Hilda  was  a  gentle 
soul,  who  would  never  even  whip  a  pu 
pil.  She  might  not  approve — but  Miss 
81 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

Holden  had  the  spirit  of  the  pioneer 
and  she  must  lead  these  people  into 
the  light.  So  she  told  her  plan  next 
day  to  Pleasant  Trouble  and  Lum  Chap 
man,  who  were  first  to  come.  Stolid 
Lum  would  have  shown  no  surprise 
had  she  proposed  that  the  two  boys 
dive  from  a  cliff,  and  if  one  survived 
he  won;  but  the  wonder  and  the  suc 
ceeding  joy  in  Pleasant's  face  disturbed 
Miss  Holden.  And  when  Pleasant 
swung  his  hat  from  his  head  and  let 
out  a  fox-hunting  yelp  of  pure  ecstasy 
she  rebuked  him  severely,  whereat  the 
man  with  the  crutch  lapsed  into  so 
lemnity. 

"Will  they  fight  this  way?"  she 
asked. 

"Them  two  boys  will  fight  a  bee-gum 
o'  sucklin'  wildcats — tooth  and  toe-nail." 

"They  aren't  going  to  fight  that 
82 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

way/'  protested  Miss  Holden.  "They 
will  fight  by  the  Marquis  of — er — Some 
body's  rules."  She  explained  the  best 
she  could  the  intervals  of  action  and  of 
rest,  and  her  hearers  were  vastly  in 
terested. 

"They  can't  kick?"   asked  Pleasant. 

"No." 

"Nerbite?" 

"No!" 

"Ner  gouge?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'gouge'?" 
Pleasant  pantomimed  with  a  thumb 
nail  crooked  on  the  outer  edge  of  each 
eye-socket. 

"No!"  was  the  horrified  cry. 

"Jest  a  square,  stand-up  and  knock 
down  fight?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  reluctantly  but 
bravely. 

"Lum  will  be  timekeeper  and  referee 
83 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

to  make  them  break  away  when  they 
clinch."  When  she  explained  that 
Pleasant  scratched  his  head. 

"They  can't  even  wrassle?"  Miss 
Holden  understood  and  did  not  cor 
rect. 

"They  can't  even  wrassle.  And  you 
and  I  will  be  the  seconds." 

"Seconds — whut  do  we  do?" 

"Oh,  we — we  fan  them  and — and 
wash  off  the  blood,"  she  shivered  a 
little  in  spite  of  herself.  Pleasant  smiled 
broadly. 

"Which  one  you  goin'  to  wash 
off?" 

"I — I  don't  know."    Pleasant  grinned. 

"Well,  we  better  toss  up  fer  it  an' 
alter  they  git  hyeh"  She  did  not  under 
stand  his  emphasis. 

"Very  well,"  she  assented  carelessly. 
84 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

Up  the  road  came  Ham  Cage  now, 
and  down  the  road  came  King  Camp — 
both  with  a  rapid  stride.  Though  both 
had  sworn  to  shoot  on  sight,  they  had 
kept  away  from  each  other  as  they  had 
promised,  and  now  without  speaking 
they  glowered  unwinking  into  each 
other's  eyes.  Nor  did  either  ask  a  ques 
tion  when  the  little  teacher,  with  two 
towels  over  one  arm,  led  the  way  down 
the  road,  up  over  a  little  ridge,  and 
down  to  a  grassy  hollow  by  the  side  of 
a  tinkling  creek.  It  was  hard  for  the  girl 
to  believe  that  these  two  boys  meant  to 
shoot  each  other  as  they  had  threatened, 
but  Pleasant  had  told  her  they  surely 
would,  and  that  fact  held  her  purpose 
firm.  Without  a  word  they  listened 
while  she  explained,  and  without  a  word 
both  nodded  assent — nor  did  they  show 
85 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

any  surprise  when  the  girl  repeated 
what  she  had  told  Pleasant  Trouble 
and  Lum  Chapman. 

"Jes'  a  plain  ole  square,  stand-up  an' 
knock-down  fight,"  murmured  Pleasant 
consolingly,  pulling  forth  a  silver  quarter. 
"Heads — you  wipe  Ham;  tails — you 
wipe  King."  Miss  Holden  nodded,  and 
for  the  first  time  the  two  lads  turned 
their  angry  eyes  from  each  other  to  the 
girl  and  yet  neither  asked  a  question. 
Tails  it  was,  and  the  girl  motioned  King 
to  a  log  on  one  side  of  the  hollow,  and 
Pleasant  and  Ham  to  another  log  on 
the  other  side.  She  handed  Pleasant 
one  of  the  towels,  dropped  her  little 
watch  into  Lum's  huge  palm,  and  on 
second  thought  took  it  back  again:  it 
might  get  broken,  and  Lum  might  be 
too  busy  to  keep  time.  Only  Pleasant 
86 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

saw  the  gritting  of  Ham's  teeth  when 
she  took  her  stand  by  King's  side. 

"Take  off  your  coats!"  she  said 
sharply.  The  two  obeyed  swiftly. 

"Time!"  she  called,  and  the  two 
leaped  for  each  other. 

"Stop!"  she  cried,  and  they  halted. 
"I  forgot — shake  hands  !" 

Both  shook  their  heads  instead,  like 
maddened  bulls,  and  even  Lum  looked 
amazed;  he  even  spoke: 

"Whut's  the  use  o'  fightin',  if  they 
shakes  hands  ?  " 

Miss  Holden  had  no  argument  ready, 
and  etiquette  was  waived.  "Time!" 
she  repeated,  and  then  the  two  batter 
ing-rams,  revolving  their  fists  country- 
fashion,  engaged.  Half -forgotten  Ho 
meric  phrases  began  to  flit  from  a  far 
away  schoolroom  back  into  the  little 
87 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

teacher's  mind  and  she  began  to  be 
consoled  for  the  absence  of  gloves — 
those  tough  old  ancients  had  used  gauges 
of  iron  and  steel.  The  two  boys  were 
evenly  matched.  After  a  few  thunder 
ing  body  blows  they  grew  wary,  and 
when  the  round  closed  their  faces  were 
unmarked,  they  had  done  each  other 
no  damage,  and  Miss  Holden  was  thrilled 
— it  wasn't  so  bad  after  all.  Each  boy 
grabbed  his  own  towel  and  wiped  the 
sweat  off  his  own  face. 

"Git  at  it,  Ham— git  at  it!"  en 
couraged  Pleasant,  and  Ham  got  at  it. 
He  gave  King  a  wallop  on  the  jaw; 
King  came  back  with  a  jolt  on  the  chin, 
and  the  two  embraced  untenderly. 

"Break  away  !"  cried  the  girl.    "Lum, 

make   them   break!"     Lum  thrust   one 

mighty  arm  between  them  and,  as  they 

flailed  unavailingly  over  it,  threw  them 

88 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

both  back  with  a  right-and-left  sweep. 
Both  were  panting  when  the  girl  called 
time,  and  the  first  blood  showed  stream 
ing  from  King's  nose.  Miss  Holden 
looked  a  little  pale,  but  gallantly  she 
dipped  the  towel  in  the  brook  and  went 
about  her  work.  Again  Pleasant  saw 
his  principal's  jaw  work  in  a  gritting 
movement,  and  he  chuckled  encourage 
ment  so  loudly  that  the  girl  heard  him 
and  looked  around  indignantly.  It  was 
inevitable  that  the  seconds,  even  un 
consciously,  should  take  sides,  and  that 
point  was  coming  fast.  The  girl  did 
not  hear  herself  say: 

"Shift  your  head  and  come  back 
from  underneath!"  And  that  was  what 
King  proceeded  to  do,  and  Ham  got  an 
upper-cut  on  the  chin  that  snapped  his 
head  up  and  sprinkled  the  blue  sky 
with  stars  for  him  just  as  the  bell  of 
89 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

the  girl's  voice  sounded  time.  Mean 
while,  up  the  road  below  them  came  a 
khaki-clad  youth  and  a  girl — Polly  Size- 
more  and  one  of  her  soldier  lovers  who 
was  just  home  on  a  furlough.  Polly 
heard  the  noises  in  the  hollow,  cocked 
an  ear,  put  her  finger  on  her  lips, 
and  led  him  to  the  top  of  the  little 
ridge  whence  she  could  peak  over. 
Her  amazed  eyes  grew  hot  seeing  the 
Mission  girl,  and  she  turned  and  whis 
pered  : 

"That  fotched-on  woman's  got  'em 
fightin'." 

The  soldier's  face  radiated  joy  indeed, 
and  as,  unseen  spectators  the  two  noise 
lessly  settled  down. 

"Whur'd  they  learn  to  fight  this 
way?"  whispered  the  soldier — the  army 
had  taught  him.  Polly  whispered  back: 
90 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

"She's  a-larnin'  'em."  The  khaki 
boy  gurgled  his  joy  and  craned  his  neck. 

"Whut  they  fightin'  about?"  Polly 
flushed  and  turned  her  face. 

«I_er__[  don't  know."  The  soldier 
observed  neither  her  flush  nor  her  hesi 
tation,  for  King  and  Ham  were  spring 
ing  forward  for  another  round;  he  only 
muttered  his  disgust  at  their  awkward 
ness  and  their  ignorance  of  the  ring  in 
terms  that  were  strange  to  the  girl  by 
his  side. 

"The  mutts,  the  cheeses,  the  pore 
dawgs — they  don't  know  how  to  guard 
an'  they  ain't  got  no  lefts." 

Pleasant  was  advising  and  encourag 
ing  his  principal  now  openly  and  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  Ham's  face  began  to 
twist  with  fury  when  he  heard  the  Mis 
sion  girl  begin  to  spur  on  King.  With 
91 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

bared  teeth  he  rushed  forward  and 
through  the  wild  blows  aimed  at  him, 
got  both  underholds,  and  King  gave  a 
gasping  grunt  as  the  breath  was  squeezed 
quite  out  of  him. 

"Break!"  cried  the  girl.  Lum  tugged 
at  the  locked  hand  and  wrist  behind 
King's  back  and  King's  hands  flew  to 
Ham's  throat.  "Break!  Break!"  And 
Lum  had  literally  to  tear  them  apart. 

"Time !"  gasped  the  girl.  She  was  on 
the  point  of  tears  now,  but  she  held 
them  back  and  her  mouth  tightened — 
she  would  give  them  one  more  round 
anyhow.  When  the  battling  pair  rose 
Pleasant  lost  his  head.  He  let  loose  a 
fox-hunting  yell.  He  forgot  his  duty 
and  the  rules;  he  forgot  the  girl — he 
forgot  all  but  the  fight. 

"Let  'em  loose!"  he  yelled.  "Git  at 
92 


Let  'em  loose  ! "  he  yelled.      "  Git  at  it,  boys  !     Go  fer  him, 
Ham — whoop-ee-ee  !  " 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

it,  boys !  Go  fer  him,  Ham — whoop — 
ee — ee  !  "  The  girl  was  electrified.  Lum 
began  cracking  the  knuckles  of  his  huge 
fingers.  Polly  and  the  soldier  rose  to 
their  feet.  That  little  dell  turned  eons 
back.  The  people  there  wore  skins  and 
two  cavemen  who  had  left  their  clubs 
at  home  fought  with  all  the  other  weap 
ons  they  had.  The  Mission  girl  could 
never  afterward  piece  out  the  psychology 
of  that  moment  of  world  darkness,  but 
when  she  saw  Ham's  crooked  thumbs 
close  to  King's  eyes  a  weird  and  thrilling 
something  swept  her  out  of  herself. 
Her  watch  dropped  to  the  ground.  She 
rushed  forward,  seized  two  handfuls  of 
Ham's  red  hair,  and  felt  Polly's  two 
sinewy  hands  seizing  hers.  Like  a  tigress 
she  flashed  about;  just  in  time  then 
came  the  call  of  civilization,  and  she 
93 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

answered  it  with  a  joyous  cry.  Bound 
ing  across  the  creek  below  came  a  tall 
young  man,  who  stopped  suddenly  in 
sheer  amaze  at  the  scene  and  as  sud 
denly  dashed  on.  With  hair  and  eyes 
streaming,  the  girl  went  to  meet  him 
and  rushed  into  his  arms.  From  that 
haven  she  turned. 

"It's  a  draw!"  she  said  faintly. 
"Shake—"  She  did  not  finish  the  sen 
tence.  Ham  and  King  had  risen  and 
were  staring  at  her  and  the  stranger. 
They  looked  at  each  other,  and  then 
saw  Polly  sidling  back  to  the  soldier. 
Again  they  looked  at  each  other,  grinned 
at  each  other,  and,  as  each  turned  for 
his  coat — clasped  hands. 

"Oh!"  cried  the  girl,  "I'm  so  glad." 
"This  is  not  my  brother,"  she  said, 
leading    the    stranger    forward.      If    she 
94 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

expected  to  surprise  them,  she  didn't, 
for  in  the  hills  brothers  and  sisters  do 
not  rush  into  each  other's  arms.  "It's 
my  sweetheart,  and  he's  come  to  take 
me  home.  And  you  won't  shoot  each 
other — you  won't  fight  any  more?" 
And  Ham  said: 

"Not  jes'  at  present";  and  King 
laughed. 

"I'm  so  glad." 

Pleasant  swung  back  to  the  Mission 
House  with  the  two  foreigners,  and  on 
the  way  Miss  Holden  explained.  The 
stranger  was  a  merry  person,  and  that 
part  of  Happy  Valley  rang  with  his 
laughter. 

"My!  I  wish  I  had  got  there  earlier 
— what  were  they  fighting  about?" 

"Why,  Polly  Sizemore,  that  pretty 
95 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

girl  with  black  hair  who  lost  her  head 
when — when — I  caught  hold  of  Ham." 
The  shoulder  of  Pleasant  Trouble  that 
was  not  working  up  and  down  over  his 
crutch  began  to  work  up  and  down  over 
something  else. 

"What's  the  matter,  Pleasant?"  asked 
the  girl. 

"Nothin'."  But  he  was  grinning 
when  they  reached  the  steps  of  the 
Mission,  and  he  turned  on  Miss  Holden 
a  dancing  eye. 

"Polly  nothin' — them  two  boys  was 
a-fightin'  about  you  !  "  And  he  left  her 
aghast  and  wheeled  chuckling  away. 

Next  afternoon  the  Marquise  bade  her 
little  brood  a  tearful  good-by  and  rode 
with  her  lover  up  Happy  Valley  to  go 
over  the  mountain,  on  to  the  railroad, 
and  back  into  the  world.  At  the  mouth 
96 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

of  Wolf  Run  Pleasant  Trouble  was  wait 
ing  to  shake  hands. 

"Tell  Polly  good-by  for  me,  Pleasant," 
said  Miss  Holden.  "She  wasn't  there." 

"Polly  and  the  soldier  boy  rid  up  to 
the  Lee  tie  Jedge  o'  Happy  Valley  last 
night  to  git  married." 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Holden,  and  she 
flushed  a  little.  "And  Ham  and  King 
weren't  there — where  do  you  suppose 
they  are?"  Pleasant  pointed  to  a  green 
little  hollow  high  up  a  ravine. 

"They're  up  thar." 

"Alone?"  Pleasant  nodded  and  Miss 
Holden  looked  anxious. 

"They  aren't  fighting  again?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"Do  you  suppose  they  are  really 
friends  now  ?  " 

"Ham  an'  King  air  as  lovin'  as  a 
97 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

pair  o'  twins,"  said  Pleasant  decidedly, 
and  Miss  Holden  looked  much  pleased. 

"What  on  earth  are  they  doing  up 
there?" 

"Well,"  drawled  Pleasant,  "when  they 
ain't  huggin'  an'  shakin'  hands  they're 
wrasslin'  with  a  jug  o'  moonshine." 

The  Mission  girl  looked  disturbed, 
and  the  merry  stranger  let  loose  his  ring 
ing  laugh. 

"Oh,  dear!  Now,  where  do  you  sup 
pose  they  got  moonshine?" 

"I  tol'  you,"  repeated  Pleasant,  "that 
I  didn't  know  nobody  who  couldn't  git 
moonshine."  Miss  Holden  sighed,  her 
lover  laughed  again,  and  they  rode  away, 
Pleasant  watching  them  till  they  were 
out  of  sight. 

"Whut  I  aimed  to  say  was,"  corrected 
Pleasant  mentally,  "I  didn't  know  no- 
98 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 

body  who  knowed  me  that  couldn't  git 
it."  And  he  jingled  the  coins  in  his 
pockets  that  at  daybreak  that  morning 
had  been  in  the  pockets  of  Ham  and 
King. 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 

fTIHE  sergeant  got  the  wounded  man 
**  to  his  feet  and  threw  one  arm 
around  his  waist.  Then  he  all  but 
carried  him,  stumbling  along,  with  both 
hands  clasped  across  his  eyes,  down  the 
ravine  that  looked  at  night  like  some 
pit  of  hell.  For  along  their  path  a  thou 
sand  coke-ovens  spat  forth  red  tongues 
that  licked  northward  with  the  wind, 
shot  red  arrows  into  the  choking  black 
smoke  that  surged  up  the  mountain 
side,  and  lighted  with  fire  the  bellies 
of  the  clouds  rolling  overhead. 

"Wharyoutakin'me?" 

"Hospital."    The  mountainer  stopped 
suddenly. 

"Why,  I  can't  see  them  ovens!" 
103 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"  You  come  on,  Jim." 

Next  morning  Jim  lay  on  a  cot  with 
a  sheet  drawn  to  his  chin  and  a  grayish- 
yellow  bandage  covering  forehead  and 
eyes  down  to  the  tip  of  his  nose.  When 
the  surgeon  lifted  that  bandage  the 
nurse  turned  her  face  aside,  and  what 
was  under  it,  or  rather  what  was  not 
under  it,  shall  not  be  told.  Only  out 
in  the  operating-room  the  smooth-faced 
young  assistant  was  curiously  counting 
over  some  round  leaden  pellets,  and  he 
gave  one  low  whistle  when  he  pushed 
into  a  pile  a  full  fourscore. 

"He  said  he  was  a-lookin'  through  a 
keyhole,"  the  sergeant  reported,  "an' 
somebody  let  him  have  it  with  both 
barrels — but  that  don't  go.  Jim  wouldn't 
be  lookin'  through  no  keyhole;  he'd 
bust  the  door  down." 
104 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 

Nor  could  the  sergeant  learn  more. 
He  had  found  the  man  stumbling  down 
Possum  Hollow,  and  up  that  hollow  the 
men  and  women  of  the  mining  camp 
did  not  give  one  another  away. 

"It  might  'a'  been  any  one  of  a  dozen 
fellers  I  know,"  the  sergeant  said,  for 
Jim  was  a  feudsman  and  had  his  enemies 
by  the  score. 

The  man  on  the  cot  said  nothing. 
Once,  to  be  sure,  when  he  was  crossing 
the  border  of  Etherland,  and  once  only, 
he  muttered:  "Yes,  she  come  from 
Happy  Valley,  but  she  was  a  cat,  no 
doubt  about  that.  Yes,  sir,  the  old 
girl  was  a  cat."  But  when  he  was  con 
scious  that  much  even  he  never  would 
say  again.  He  simply  lay  grim,  quiet, 
uncomplaining,  and  not  even  the  sur 
geon,  whose  step  he  got  quickly  to 
105 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

know,  could  get  him  to  tell  who  had 
done  the  deed. 

On  the  fourth  day  he  showed  some 
cheer. 

"Look  here,  doc,"  he  said,  "when 
you  goin'  to  take  this  rag  off  o'  my 
eyes?  I  hain't  seen  a  wink  since  I  come 
in  here." 

"Oh,  pretty  soon,"  said  the  surgeon, 
and  the  nurse  turned  away  again  with 
drops  in  her  eyes  that  would  never  be 
for  the  wounded  man's  eyes  to  shed 
again. 

On  the  sixth  day  his  pulse  was  fast 
and  his  blood  was  high — and  that  night 
the  nurse  knew  precisely  what  meant 
the  look  in  the  surgeon's  face  when  he 
motioned  her  to  leave  the  room.  Then 
he  bent  to  lift  the  bandage  once  more. 

"Why  don't  you  take  'em  all  off, 
106 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 

doc?  I'd  like  to  see  the  old  girl  again. 
Has  she  gone  back  to  Happy  Valley?" 

"No— she's  here." 

"Won't  she  come  to  see  me?" 

"Yes,  she'll  come,  but  she  can't  now 
— she's  sick  abed."  The  man  grinned. 

"Yes,  I  know  them  spells." 

"Jim,"  said  the  surgeon  suddenly, 
"I'm  going  to  be  very  busy  to-morrow, 
and  if  you've  got  any  message  to  send 
to  anybody  or  anything  to  say  to  me, 
you'd  better  say  it  before  I  go."  He 
spoke  carelessly,  but  with  a  little  too 
much  care. 

The  sheet  moved  over  the  hands 
clasped  across  Jim's  breast.  "Why, 
doc,  you  don't  mean  to  say — "  He 
stopped  and  drew  in  one  breath  slowly. 

"Oh,  no,  but  you  can't  always  tell, 
and  I  might  not  get  back  till  late,  and 
107 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

I  thought  you  might  have  something  to 
tell  me  about — "  He  paused  helplessly, 
and  the  man  on  the  cot  began  moving 
his  lips.  The  surgeon  bent  low. 

"Why,  doc,"  he  said  very  slowly,  "you 
— don't — really — mean — to — say — that 
the  old — '^his  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper, 
"has  finished  me  this  time?" 

"Who  finished  you,  Jim — who'd  you 
say  finished  you?" 

A  curious  smile  flitted  over  the  coarse 
lips  and  passed.  Then  the  lips  tightened 
and  the  thought  behind  the  bandage 
made  its  way  to  the  surgeon's  quick 
brain,  and  there  was  a  long  silence. 

At  last: 

"Doc,  d'you  ever  hear  tell  of  a  woman 
bein'  hung?" 

"Yes,  Jim." 

And  then: 

108 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 

"Doc,  am  I  goin'  shore?"  This  ques 
tion  the  surgeon  answered  with  another, 
bending  low. 

"Jim,  what  message  shall  I  give  your 
wife?"  The  curious  smile  came  back. 

"Doc,  this  is  Christmas,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,  Jim." 

"Doc,  you're  shore,  air  ye,  that  no 
body  knows  who  done  it?" 

"Nobody  but  you,  Jim." 

The  man  had  been  among  men  the 
terror  of  the  hills  for  years,  but  on  the 
last  words  that  passed  his  gray  lips  his 
soul  must  have  swung  upward  toward 
the  soul  of  the  Man  who  lived  and  died 
for  the  peace  of  those  hills. 

"Doc,"  he  said  thickly,  "you  jus' 
tell  the  old  girl  Jim  says:  'Happy  Christ 
mas!'" 

The  surgeon  started  back  at  the  grim 
109 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

cheer  of  that  message,  but  he  took  it 
like  a  priest  and  carried  it  back  through 
the  little  hell  that  flared  down  the  ravine 
on  Jim  now  through  the  window.  And 
like  a  priest  he  told  it  to  but  one  living 
soul. 


110 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 

T  TE  had  violet  eyes,  the  smile  of  a 
•*•  •*•  seraph,  and  a  halo  of  yellow  hair, 
and  he  came  from  Viper,  which  is  a 
creek  many,  many  hills  away  from 
Happy  Valley.  He  came  on  foot  and 
alone  to  St.  Hilda,  who  said  sadly  that 
she  had  no  room  for  him.  But  she 
sighed  helplessly  when  the  Angel  smiled 
— and  made  room  for  him.  To  the 
teachers  he  became  Willie — to  his  equals 
he  was  Bill.  In  a  few  weeks  he  got 
homesick  and,  without  a  word,  dis 
appeared.  A  fortnight  later  he  turned 
up  again  with  a  little  brother,  and  again 
he  smiled  at  St.  Hilda. 

"Jeems     Henery     hyeh,"     he     said, 
'"lowed  as  how  he'd  come  along" — and 
113 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

James  Henry  got  a  home.  Jeems  was 
eight,  and  the  Angel,  who  was  ten,  was 
brother  and  father  to  him.  He  saw  to 
it  that  Jeems  Henery  worked  and  worked 
hard  and  that  he  behaved  himself,  so 
that  his  concern  for  the  dull,  serious 
little  chap  touched  St.  Hilda  deeply. 
That  concern  seemed,  indeed,  sacrificial 
— and  was. 

When  spring  breathed  on  the  hills  the 
Angel  got  restless.  He  was  homesick 
again  and  must  go  to  see  his  mother. 

"But,  Willie,"  said  St.  Hilda,  "you 
told  me  your  mother  died  two  years 
ago." 

"She  come  might9  nigh  dyin',"  said 
the  Angel.  "That's  what  I  said."  St. 
Hilda  reasoned  with  him  to  no  avail, 
and  because  she  knew  he  would  go  any 
how  gave  him  permission. 
114 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 

"Miss  Hildy,  I'm  a-leavin'  Jeems 
Henery  with  ye  now,  an'  I  reckon  I 
oughter  tell  you  somethin'." 

"Yes,  Willie,"  answered  St.  Hilda  ab 
sently. 

"Miss  Hildy,  Jeems  Henery  is  the 
bigges'  liar  on  Viper." 

"Yes,"  repeated  St.  Hilda;    "what?" 

"The  truth  ain't  in  Jeems  Henery," 
the  Angel  went  on  placidly.  "You  can't 
lam'  it  inter  'im  an'  tain't  no  use  to  try. 
You  jus'  watch  him  close  while  I'm 
gone." 

"I  will." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Angel  put  his 
hand  gently  on  St.  Hilda's  knee,  and 
his  violet  eyes  were  troubled.  "Miss 
Hildy,"  he  said  solemnly,  "Jeems  Henery 
is  the  cussin'est  boy  on  Viper.  I  reckon 
Jeems  Henery  is  the  cussin'est  boy 
115 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

in  the  world.  You've  got  to  watch 
him  while  I'm  gone,  or  no  tellin' 
whut  he  will  larn  them  young  uns  o' 
yours." 

"All  right.    I'll  do  the  best  I  can." 

"An'  that  ain't  all,"  added  the  Angel 
solemnly.  "Jeems  Henery" — St.  Hilda 
almost  held  her  breath — "Jeems  Henery 
is  the  gamblin'est  boy  on  Viper.  Jeems 
Henery  jes'  can't  look  at  a  marble  with 
out  tremblin'  all  over.  If  you  don't 
watch  him  like  a  hawk  while  I'm  gone 
I  reckon  Jeems  Henery '11  larn  them 
young  uns  o'  yours  all  the  devilment  in 
the  world." 

"Gracious!" 

James  Henry  veered  into  view  just 
then  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"Jeems  Henery,"  called  the  Angel 
sternly,  "come  hyeh!"  And  James 
116 


Miss  Hildy,  Jeems  Henery  is  the  bigges'  liar  on  Viper." 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 

Henry    stood    before    the    bar    of    the 
Angel's  judgment. 

"Jeems  Henery,  air  you  the  gam- 
blin'est  boy  on  Viper?"  James  Henry 
nodded  cheerfully. 

"Air  you  the  cussin'est  boy  on 
Viper?"  Again  there  was  a  nod  of 
cheerful  acknowledgment. 

"Jeems  Henery,  air  you  the  bigges' 
liar  on  Viper?"  James  Henry,  looking 
with  adoring  eyes  at  the  Angel,  nodded 
shameless  shame  for  the  third  time,  and 
the  Angel  turned  triumphantly. 

"Thar  now!"  Astounded,  St.  Hilda 
looked  from  one  brother  to  the  other. 

"Well,  not  one  word  of  this  have  I 
heard  before." 

"Jeems  Henery  is  a  sly  un — ain't  you, 
Jeems  Henery  ?  " 

"Uh-huh." 

117 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"  Ain't  nobody  who  can  ketch  up  with 
Jeems  Henery  'ceptin'  me." 

"Well,  Willie,  if  this  is  more  than  I 
can  handle,  don't  you  think  you'd  better 
not  go  home  but  stay  here  and  help 
me  with  James  Henry?"  The  Angel 
did  not  even  hesitate. 

"I  reckon  I  better,"  he  said,  and  he 
visibly  swelled  with  importance.  "I  had 
to  lam'  Jeems  Henery  this  mornin',  an' 
I  reckon  I'll  have  to  keep  on  lammin' 
him  'most  every  day." 

"Don't  you  lam'  James  Henry  at 
all,"  said  St.  Hilda  decisively. 

"All  right,"  said  the  Angel.  "Jeems 
Henery,  git  about  yo'  work  now." 

Thereafter   St.   Hilda  kept  watch   on 

James  Henry  and  he  was,  indeed,  a  sly 

one.    There  was  gambling  going  on.    St. 

Hilda    did    not    encourage    tale-bearing, 

118 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 

but  she  knew  it  was  going  on.  Still  she 
could  not  catch  James  Henry.  One 
day  the  Angel  came  to  her. 

"I've  got  Jeems  Henery  to  stop  gam- 
blin',"  he  whispered,  "an*  I  didn't  have 
to  lam'  him."  And,  indeed,  gambling 
thereafter  ceased.  The  young  man  who 
had  come  for  the  summer  to  teach  the 
boys  the  games  of  the  outside  world  re 
ported  that  much  swearing  had  been 
going  on  but  that  swearing  too  had 
stopped. 

"I've  got  Jeems  Henery  to  stop 
cussin',"  reported  the  Angel,  and  so 
St.  Hilda  rewarded  him  with  the  easy 
care  of  the  nice  new  stable  she  had 
built  on  the  hillside.  His  duty  was  to 
clean  it  and  set  things  in  order  every 
day. 

Some  ten  days  later  she  was  passing 
119 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

near  the  scene  of  the  Angel's  new  ac 
tivities,  and  she  hailed  him. 

"How  are  you  getting  along?"  she 
called. 

"Come  right  on,  Miss  Hildy,"  shouted 
the  Angel.  "I  got  ever'thing  cleaned 
up.  Come  on  an'  look  in  the  furthest 
corners !" 

St.  Hilda  went  on,  but  ten  minutes 
later  she  had  to  pass  that  way  again 
and  she  did  look  in.  Nothing  had  been 
done.  The  stable  was  in  confusion  and 
a  pitchfork  lay  prongs  upward  midway 
of  the  barn  door. 

"How's  this,  Ephraim?"  she  asked, 
mystified.  Ephraim  was  a  fourteen- 
year-old  boy  who  did  the  strenuous 
work  of  the  barn. 

"Why,  Miss  Hildy,  I  jes'  hain't  had 
time  to  clean  up  yit." 
120 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 

"You  haven't  had  time?"  she  echoed 
in  more  mystery.  "That  isn't  your 
work — it's  Willie's."  It  was  Ephraim's 
turn  for  mystery. 

"Why,  Miss  Hildy,  Willie  told  me 
more'n  a  week  ago  that  you  said  fer 
me  to  do  all  the  cleanin'  up." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you've 
been  doing  this  work  for  over  a  week? 
What's  Willie  been  doing?" 

"Not  a  lick — jes'  settin'  aroun'  study- 
in'  an'  whistlin'." 

St.  Hilda  went  swiftly  down  the  hill, 
herself  in  deep  study,  and  she  sum 
moned  the  Angel  to  the  bar  of  her  judg 
ment.  The  Angel  writhed  and  wormed, 
but  it  was  no  use,  and  at  last  with  smile, 
violet  eyes,  and  halo  the  Angel  spoke 
the  truth.  Then  a  great  light  dawned 
for  St.  Hilda,  and  she  played  its  search- 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

ing  rays  on  the  Angel's  past  and  he 
spoke  more  truth,  leaving  her  gasping 
and  aghast. 

"Why— why  did  you  say  all  that 
about  your  poor  little  brother?" 

The  Angel's  answer  was  prompt. 
"Why,  I  figgered  that  you  couldn't  ketch 
Jeems  Henery  an'  wouldn't  ketch  me. 
An',"  the  Angel  added  dreamily,  "it 
come  might'  nigh  bein'  that-a-way  if  I 
just  had " 

"You're  a  horrid,  wicked  little  boy," 
St.  Hilda  cried,  but  the  Angel  would 
not  be  perturbed,  for  he  was  a  practical 
moralist. 

"Jeems  Henery,"  he  called  into  space, 
"come  hyeh !"  And  out  of  space  James 
Henry  came,  as  though  around  the 
corner  he  had  been  waiting  the  sum 
mons. 

"Jeems   Henery,   who   was   the   gam- 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 

blin'est,  cussin'est,  lyin'est  boy  on 
Viper?" 

"My  big  brother  Bill !"  shouted  Jeems 
Henery  proudly. 

"Who  stopped  gamblin',  cussin',  an' 
lyin'?" 

"My  big  brother  Bill!" 

"Who  stopped  all  these  young  uns  o' 
Miss  Hildy's  from  cussin'  an'  gamblin'  ?" 
And  Jeems  Henery  shouted:  "My  big 
brother  Bill !"  The  Angel,  well  pleased, 
turned  to  St.  Hilda. 

"Thar  now,"  he  said  triumphantly, 
and  seeing  that  he  had  reduced  St. 
Hilda  to  helpless  pulp  he  waved  his 
hand. 

"Git  back  to  yo'  work,  Jeems  Henery." 
But  St.  Hilda  was  not  yet  all  pulp. 

"Willie,"  she  asked  warily,  "when  did 
you  stop  lying?" 

"Why,  jes'  now!"  There  was  in  the 
123 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

Angel's  face  a  trace  of  wonder  at  St. 
Hilda's  lack  of  understanding. 

"How  did  James  Henry  know?"  The 
mild  wonder  persisted. 

"Jeems  Henery  knows  me!"  St. 
Hilda  was  all  pulp  now,  but  it  was  late 
afternoon,  and  birds  were  singing  in 
the  woods,  and  her  little  people  were 
singing  as  they  worked  in  fields;  and 
her  heart  was  full.  She  spoke  gently. 

"Go  on  back  to  work,  Willie,"  she 
was  about  to  say,  but  the  Angel  had 
gone  a-dreaming  and  his  face  was  sad, 
and  she  said  instead: 

"What  is  it,  Willie?" 

"I  know  whut's  been  the  matter  with 
me,  Miss  Hildy — I  hain't  been  the  same 
since  my  mother  died  six  year  ago." 
For  a  moment  St.  Hilda  took  a  little 
silence  to  gain  self-control. 
124 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 

"You  mean,"  she  said  sternly,  "  'come 
might9  nigh  dyin','  Willie,  and  two  years 
ago." 

"Well,  Miss  Hildy,  hit  'pears  like 
six."  Her  brain  whirled  at  the  work 
ing  of  his,  but  his  eyes,  his  smile,  and 
the  halo,  glorified  just  then  by  a  bar 
of  sunlight,  were  too  much  for  St. 
Hilda,  and  she  gathered  him  into  her 
arms. 

"Oh,  Willie,  Willie,"  she  half-sobbed; 
"I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  you!" 
And  then,  to  comfort  her,  the  Angel 
spoke  gently: 

"Miss  Hildy,  jes'  don't  do— nothin'." 


125 


THE   POPE   OF   THE   BIG   SANDY 


THE   POPE   OF  THE   BIG   SANDY 

T  TE  entered  a  log  cabin  in  the  Ken- 
-*•  •*•  tucky  hills.  An  old  woman  with 
a  pair  of  scissors  cut  the  tie  that  bound 
him  to  his  mother  and  put  him  in 
swaddling-clothes  of  homespun.  Now, 
in  silk  pajamas,  with  three  doctors  and 
two  nurses  to  make  his  going  easy,  he 
was  on  his  way  out  of  a  suite  of  rooms 
ten  stories  above  the  splendor  of  Fifth 
Avenue. 

It  was  early  morning.  A  taxi  swung 
into  the  paved  circle  in  front  of  the 
hotel  below  and  a  little  man  in  slouch- 
hat  and  black  frock  coat,  and  with  his 
trousers  in  his  boots,  stepped  gingerly 
out.  He  took  off  the  hat  with  one  hand, 
dropped  his  saddle-pockets  from  the 
129 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

other,  and  mopped  his  forehead  with  a 
bandanna  handkerchief. 

"My  God,  brother,"  he  said  to  the 
grinning  driver,  "I  toP  ye  to  hurry,  but 
I  didn't  'low  you'd  fly  !  How  much  d' 
I  owe  ye  an'  how  do  I  git  in  hyeh?" 

A  giant  in  a  gold-braided  uniform 
had  picked  up  the  saddle-pockets  when 
the  little  man  turned. 

"Well,  now,  that's  clever  of  ye,"  he 
said,  thrusting  out  his  hand,  "I  reckon 
you  air  the  proprietor — how's  the 
Pope?" 

"Sure,  I  dunno,  sor — this  way,  sor." 
The  astonished  giant  pointed  to  the 
swinging  door  and  turned  for  light  to 
the  taxi  man  who,  doubled  with  laugh 
ter  over  his  wheel,  tapped  his  fore 
head.  At  the  desk  the  little  man 
pushed  his  hat  back  and  put  both  elbows 
down. 

130 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 
"Whar's  the  Pope?" 
"The  Pope  !"    From  behind,  the  giant 
was  making  frantic  signs,  but  the  clerk's 
brow  cleared.     "Oh,  yes — front!" 

The  little  man  gasped  and  swayed  as 
the  elevator  shot  upward,  but  a  mo 
ment  later  the  little  judge  of  Happy 
Valley  and  the  Pope  of  the  Big  Sandy 
were  hand  in  hand. 

"How're  yo'  folks,  judge?" 
"Stirrin' — how're  you,  Jim?" 
"Ain't  stirrin'  at  all." 
"Shucks,  you'll  be  up  an'  aroun'  in 
no  time." 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  git  up  again." 
"Don't  you  git  stubborn  now,  Jim." 
A    nurse    brought    in    some    medicine 
and  the  Pope  took  it  with  a  wry  face. 
The  judge  reached  for  his  saddle-pockets 
and  pulled  out  a  bottle  of  white  liquor 
with  a  stopper  of  corn-shucks. 
131 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"This'll  take  the  bad  taste  out  o' 
yo'  mouth." 

"The  docs  won't  let  me — but  lemme 
smell  it."  The  judge  had  whipped  out 
a  twist  of  long  green  and  again  the 
Pope  shook  his  head: 

"Can't  drink— can't  chaw !" 

"Oh,  Lord!"  The  judge  bit  off  a 
mouthful  and  a  moment  later  walked 
to  the  window  and,  with  his  first  and 
second  fingers  forked  over  his  lips, 
ejected  an  amber  stream. 

"Good  Lord,  judge — don't  do  that. 
You'll  splatter  a  million  people."  He 
called  for  a  spittoon  and  the  judge 
grunted  disgustedly. 

"I'd  hate  to  live  in  a  place  whar  a 
feller  can't  spit  out  o'  his  own  window." 

"Don't  you  like  it?" 

"Hit  looks  like  circus  day — I  got  the 
headache  already." 

132 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 

A  telegram  was  brought  in. 

"Been  seein'  a  lot  about  you  in  the 
papers,"  said  the  judge,  and  the  Pope 
waved  wearily  to  a  pile  of  dailies.  There 
were  columns  about  him  in  those  papers 
— about  his  meteoric  rise:  how  he  started 
a  poor  boy  in  the  mountains,  studied 
by  candle-light,  taught  school  in  the 
hills:  how  a  vision  of  their  future  came 
to  him  even  that  early  and  how  he  clung 
to  that  vision  all  his  life,  turning,  twist 
ing  for  option  money  on  coal  lands, 
making  a  little  sale  now  and  then,  but 
always  options  and  more  options  and 
sales  and  more  sales,  until  now  the  poor 
mountain  boy  was  a  king  among  the 
coal  barons  of  the  land. 

"Judge,"  said  the  Pope,  "the  votin's 
started  down  home." 

"How's  it  goin'?" 

"Easy." 

133 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"Been  spendin'  any  money?" 

"Not  a  cent." 

"OleBillMaddoxis." 

"Why,  judge,  I'm  the  daddy  an' 
grandaddy  o'  that  town.  I  built  streets 
and  sidewalks  for  it  out  o'  my  own 
pocket.  I  put  up  two  churches  for  'em. 
I  built  the  water-works,  the  bank,  an' 
God  knows  what  all.  Ole  Bill  Maddox 
can't  turn  a  wheel  against  me."  The 
little  judge  was  marvelling:  here  was 
a  man  who  had  refused  all  his  life  to 
run  for  office,  who  could  have  been 
congressman,  senator,  governor;  and 
who  had  succumbed  at  last. 

"Jim,  what  in  blue  hell  do  you  want 
that  office  fer?" 

"To   make  folks   realize  their   duties 

as   citizens,"    said   the   Pope   patiently; 

"to  maintain  streets  and  sidewalks  and 

water-works  and  sewers  an'  become  an 

134 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 

independent  community,  instead  o'  layin* 
back  on  other  folks !" 

"How  about  all  them  churches  you 
been  buildin'  all  over  them  mountains 
— air  they  self-sustainin'  ?" 

"Well,  they  do  need  a  little  help  now 
and  then."  The  judge  grunted. 

Through  the  morning  many  cards  were 
brought  the  Pope,  but  the  doctors  al 
lowed  no  business.  To  amuse  himself 
the  Pope  sent  the  judge  into  the  sitting- 
room  to  listen  to  the  million-dollar  proj 
ect  of  one  sleek  young  man,  and  the 
judge  reported: 

"Nothin'  doin' — he's  got  a  bad  eye." 

"Right,"  said  the  Pope.  At  twelve 
o'clock  the  judge  looked  at  his  watch: 

"Dinner-time."  And  the  Pope  or 
dered  his  old  mountain  friend  cabbage, 
bacon,  and  greens. 

"Judge,  I  got  to  sleep  now.  I've  got 
135 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

a  car  down  below.  After  dinner  you 
can  take  a  ride  or  you  can  take  a 
walk." 

"You  can't  git  me  into  a  automobile 
an5  I'm  afeard  to  walk.  I'd  git  run  over. 
I'll  jus'  hang  aroun'." 

Another  telegram  was  brought  in. 

"Runnin'  easy  an'  winnin'  in  a  walk," 
said  the  Pope.  'It's  a  cinch.  You  can 
open  anything  else  that  comes  while 
I'm  asleep." 

The  judge  himself  had  not  slept  well 
on  the  train;  so  he  took  off  his  boots, 
put  his  yarn-stockinged  feet  in  one 
chair,  and  sitting  up  in  another  took  a 
nap.  An  hour  later  the  Pope  called  for 
him.  The  last  telegram  reported  that 
he  was  so  far  ahead  that  none  others 
would  be  sent  until  the  committee  started 
to  count  ballots. 

"I've  made  you  an  executor  in  my 

136 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 

will,  judge,"  he  said,  "an'  I  want  you 
to  see  that  some  things  are  done  your 
self."  The  judge  nodded. 

"I  want  you  to  have  a  new  church 
built  in  Happy  Valley.  I  want  you  to 
give  St.  Hilda  and  that  settlement  school 
five  thousand  a  year.  An*  " — he  paused 
— "you  know  ole  Bill  Maddox  cut  me 
out  an'  married  Sally  Ann  Spurlock — 
how  many  children  they  got  now, 
judge?" 

"Ten— oldest,  sixteen." 

"Well,  I  want  you  to  see  that  every 
gol-durned  one  of  'em  gits  the  chance 
to  go  to  school." 

Now,  old  Bill  Maddox  was  running 
against  the  Pope,  and  was  fighting  him 
hard,  and  the  judge  hated  old  Bill  Mad 
dox;  so  he  said  nothing.  The  Pope  too 
was  silent  a  long  while. 

"Judge,  I  got  all  my  money  out  o' 

137 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

the  mountain  folks.     I  robbed  'em  right 
and  left." 

:'You  ain't  never  robbed  nobody  in 
Happy  Valley,"  said  the  judge  a  little 
grimly,  and  the  Pope  chuckled. 

"No,  you  wouldn't  let  me.  I  got  all 
my  money  from  'em  an'  do  you  know 
what  I'm  goin'  to  do?" 

"Git  some  more,  I  reckon." 

The  Pope  chuckled  again:  "I'm 
a-goin'  to  give  it  back  to  'em.  Churches, 
schools,  libraries,  hospitals,  good  roads 
— any  durned  thing  in  the  world  that 
will  do  'em  any  good.  It's  all  in  my 
will.  An',  judge,"  he  added  with  a 
little  embarrassment,  "I've  sort  o'  fixed 
it  so  that  when  you  want  to  help  out  a 
widder  or  a  orphan  in  Happy  Valley 
you  can  do  it  without  always  diggin' 
down  into  yo'  own  jeans." 
138 


I'm  a-goin'  to  give  it  back  to  'em.     Churches,  schools,  libraries, 
hospitals,  good  roads." 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 

"Shucks,  don't  you  worry  about  me 
or  the  folks  in  Happy  Valley — you  done 
enough  fer  them  lettin'  'em  alone;  an' 
that  durned  ole  Bill  Maddox,  he's  a 
fightin'  you  right  now  afore  yo'  face 
an'  behind  yo'  back.  He's  the  mean 
est " 

"Makes  no  difference.  His  children 
ain't  to  blame  an'  thar's  Sally  Ann." 
The  Pope  yawned  and  his  brow  wrinkled 
with  pain.  "I  better  take  a  little  more 
sleep,  judge."  A  doctor  came  in  and 
felt  the  Pope's  pulse  and  the  judge  left 
the  room  worried  by  the  physician's 
face  and  his  whispered  direction  to  the 
nurse  to  summon  another  doctor. 

An  hour  later  the  Pope  called  him 
back,  and  his  voice  was  weak: 

"Bring  in  every  telegram,  judge." 

"You  mustn't  bother,"  interposed  the 
139 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

doctor  firmly,  and  the  Pope's  mouth 
set  and  the  old  dominant  gleam  came 
into  his  eyes. 

"Bring  in  every  telegram,"  he  re 
peated.  Outside,  in  the  hallway,  the 
judge  waylaid  the  doctor. 

"Ain't  he  goin'  to  pull  through?" 

"One  chance  in  a  thousand,"  was 
the  curt  answer. 

About  three  o'clock  the  judge  got  a 
telegram  that  made  him  swear  fear 
fully,  and  thereafter  they  came  fast. 
The  Pope  would  use  no  money.  The 
judge  wired  the  Pope's  manager  warily 
offering  a  thousand  of  his  own.  The 
answer  came — "  Too  late."  At  five  o'clock 
they  were  running  neck  and  neck.  Ten 
minutes  before  the  polls  closed  old  Bill 
Maddox  rounded  up  twenty  more  votes 
and  victory  was  his.  And  all  the  while 
140 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 

the  judge  was  making  reports  to  the 
Pope: 

"Runnin'  easy." 

"It's  a  cinch." 

"Ole  Bill  fighting  tooth  and  toe-nail 
but  you  got  him,  Jim." 

"Countin'  the  votes  now." 

"Air  ye  shore,  Jim,  you  want  to  leave 
all  that  money  fer  ole  Bill's  brats  ? — he's 
a  hound." 

"Ole  Bill  comin'  up  a  little,  Jim." 

And  then  came  that  last  telegram,  re 
porting  defeat,  and  with  it  crushed  in 
his  hand  the  judge  made  his  last  report: 

"All  over.  You've  got  'em,  Jim. 
Hooray!  Can't  you  hear  'em  yell?" 
The  Pope's  white  mouth  smiled  and 
his  eyelids  flickered,  but  his  eyes  stayed 
closed. 

"Jim,  I  wouldn't  give  all  that  money 
141 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

to  old  Bill's  brats — just  some  fer  Sally 
Ann." 

"All  of  it  for  old  Bill's— for  Sally 
Ann's  children,  the  mountain  folks,  an' 
the  old  home  town."  The  Pope  opened 
his  eyes  and  he  spoke: 

"All  of  you — nurses  an'  docs — git  out 
o'  here,  please."  And  knowing  that 
the  end  was  nigh  they  quietly  with 
drew. 

"Judge,  you  ain't  no  actor — you're 
a  ham!" 

"Whut  you  mean,  Jim?"  asked  the 
judge,  for  in  truth  he  did  not  under 
stand — not  just  then.  The  roar  of  the 
city  rose  from  below,  but  the  sunset 
came  through  the  window  as  through 
all  windows  of  the  world.  The  Pope's 
hand  reached  for  the  judge's  hand.  His 
lips  moved  and  the  judge  bent  low. 
142 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 

"Beat!"  whispered  the  Pope;  "beat, 
by  God  !  Beat — for — councilman — in — 
my — own  home  town."  And  because 
he  knew  his  fellow  man,  the  good  and 
the  bad,  the  Pope  passed  with  a  smile. 


143 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

I 
professor  stood  at  the  window 


of  his  study  waiting  for  Her  to 
come  home.  The  wind  outside  was  high 
and  whipped  her  skirts  close  to  her  mag 
nificent  body  as,  breasting  it  uncon 
cernedly,  she  came  with  a  long,  slow 
stride  around  a  corner  down  the  street. 
Now,  as  always  whenever  he  saw  her 
move,  he  thought  of  the  line  in  Virgil, 
for  even  in  her  walk  she  showed  the  god 
dess.  And  Juno  was  her  name. 

He  met  her  at  the  door  and  he  did 
not  have  to  stoop  to  kiss  her.     "What 
is  it,  dear?"  he  said  quickly,  for  deep 
147 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

in  her  eyes,  which  looked  level  with  his, 
he  saw  trouble. 

She  handed  him  a  letter  and  walked 
to  the  window — looking  out  at  the  gather 
ing  storm.  The  letter  was  from  her 
home  away  down  in  the  Kentucky  hills 
— from  the  Mission  teacher  in  Happy 
Valley. 

There  was  an  epidemic  of  typhoid 
down  there.  It  was  spreading  through 
the  school  and  through  the  hills.  They 
were  without  nurses  or  doctors,  and 
they  needed  help. 

"Too  bad,  too  bad,"  he  murmured, 
and  he  turned  anxiously. 

"I  must  go,"  she  said,  with  a  catch  in 
her  breath.  "One  cabin  is  built  above 
another  all  the  way  up  the  creeks  down 
there.  The  springs  are  by  the  stieam. 
High  water  floods  all  of  them,  and  the 
148 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

infection  goes  with  the  tide.  And  the 
poor  things  don't  know — they  don't 
know.  Oh,  I  must  go  !" 

For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  and  then 
he  got  up  and  put  his  arms  about  her. 
He  was  smiling. 

" Then,  I'll  go  with  you."  She  wheeled 
quickly. 

"No,  no,  no!  You  can't  leave  your 
work,  and — remember!" 

He  did  remember  how  useless  it  had 
been  to  argue  with  her,  and  he  knew  it 
was  useless  now.  Moreover,  if  she  was 
going  at  all,  it  was  like  her  to  go  at  once 
— like  her  to  go  up-stairs  at  once  to  her 
packing  and  leave  him  in  the  darkened 
study  alone. 

They  had  been  married  two  years. 
He  had  seen  her  first  entering  his  own 
classroom,  and  straightway  that  Latin 
149 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

line  took  permanent  quarters  in  his 
brain,  so  that  he  was  almost  startled 
when  he  learned  her  Olympic  name.  It 
was  not  long  before  he  found  himself 
irresistibly  drawn  to  her  big,  serious 
eyes  that  never  wandered  in  a  moment's 
inattention,  found  himself  expounding 
directly  to  her — a  fact  already  dis 
covered  by  every  girl  in  the  classroom 
except  Juno  herself;  and  she  never  did 
discover,  for  no  one  was  intimate  enough 
to  tell  her  seriously,  and  there  was  that 
about  her  that  forbade  the  telling  in 
badinage.  With  all  secrecy,  and  shyly 
almost,  he  set  about  to  learn  what  he 
could  about  her,  and  that  was  little 
indeed. 

She  came  from  the  mountains  of  Ken 
tucky,  she  had  won  a  scholarship  in  the 
bluegrass  region  of  the  same  State,  had 
150 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

come  North,  and  was  living  with  pain 
ful  economy  working  her  way  through 
college,  he  heard,  as  a  waitress  in  the 
dining-hall.  He  was  rather  shocked  to 
hear  of  one  incident.  The  girl  who  was 
the  head  of  all  athletics  in  college  had 
once  addressed  rather  sharp  words  to 
Juno,  who  had  been  persuaded  to  try 
for  the  basket-ball  team.  The  moun 
tain  girl  did  not  respond  in  kind.  In 
stead,  her  big  eyes  narrowed  to  volcanic 
slits,  she  caught  the  champion  shot- 
putter  by  the  shoulders,  shook  her  until 
her  hair  came  down,  and  then,  with 
fists  doubled,  had  stood  waiting  for 
more  trouble. 

When   the   term   closed   the  professor 

stayed    on   to   finish    some    experiments 

he  had  on  hand,  and  at  dinner  in  his 

boarding-house  the  next  night  he  nearly 

151 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

overturned  his  soup-plate,  for  it  was 
the  goddess  who  had  placed  it  before 
him.  She  was  there  for  the  summer — 
not  having  money  to  go  home — as  a 
general  helper  in  the  household  and 
living  under  the  same  roof.  She  too 
was  going  on  with  her  studies,  and  he 
offered  to  help  her. 

He  found  her  a  source  of  puzzling  sur- 

• 

prises.  While  she  was  from  the  South, 
she  was  not  Southern  in  speech,  senti 
ments,  ideas,  or  ideals.  Her  voice  was 
not  Southern  and,  while  she  elided  final 
consonants,  her  intonation  was  not  of 
the  South.  Indeed  she  would  startle 
him  every  now  and  then  by  dropping 
some  archaic  word  or  old  form  of  expres 
sion  that  made  him  think  of  Chaucer. 
Her  feeling  toward  the  negro  was  pre 
cisely  what  his  was,  and  once  when  he 
152 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

halted  in  some  stricture  on  the  Con 
federacy  and  started  to  apologize  she 
laughed. 

"All  my  folks,"  she  said,  "fit  fer  the 
Union — as  we  say  down  there,"  she 
added  with  a  smile. 

So  that  gradually  he  began  to  realize 
that  the  Appalachian  Range,  while  being 
parts  of  the  Southern  States,  was  not  of 
them  at  all,  but  was  a  region  sui  generis, 
and  that  its  inhabitants  were  the  only 
Americans  who  had  never  swerved  in 
fealty  to  the  flag. 

By  midsummer  it  was  all  over  with 
him,  and  he  shocked  his  own  reticent 
soul  by  blurting  out  one  day:  "I  want 
you  to  marry  me."  The  words  had  been 
shot  from  him  by  some  inner  dynamic 
force,  and  at  the  moment  he  would  have 
given  anything  he  had  could  he  have 
153 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

taken  them  back.  He  waited  in  terror, 
and  very  frankly  and  proudly  she  lifted 
her  heavy  lashes,  looked  straight  into 
his  eyes,  and  firmly  said: 

"No!" 

He  went  away  then,  but  his  relief 
was  not  what  he  thought  it  would  be. 
He  could  not  forget  that  her  mouth 
quivered  slightly,  and  that  there  seemed 
to  be  a  faint  weakening  in  the  depths  of 
her  eyes  when  he  told  her  good-by.  He 
could  climb  no  mountain  that  he  did 
not  see  her  striding  as  from  Olympus 
down  it.  He  walked  by  no  seashore 
that  he  did  not  see  her  rising  from  the 
waves,  and  again  he  went  to  her,  and 
again  he  asked.  And  this  time,  just  as 
frankly  and  proudly,  she  looked  him  in 
the  eyes  and  said: 

"Yes — on  one  condition." 
154 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"Name  it." 

"That  you  don't  go  to  my  home  and 
my  people  for  five  years."  He  laughed. 

"Why,  you  big,  beautiful,  silly  young 
person,  I  know  mountains  and  moun 
taineers." 

"Yes — of  Europe — but  not  mine." 
"  "Very  well,"  he  said,  and,  not  know 
ing  women,  he  asked: 

"Why  didn't  you  say  'Yes'  the  first 
time?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said. 

n 

She  had  lifted  her  voice  first,  one 
spring  dawn,  in  a  log  cabin  that  clung 
to  the  steep  bank  of  Clover  Fork,  and 
her  wail  rose  above  the  rush  of  its  high 
waters — above  the  song  of  a  wood-thrush 
in  the  top  of  a  poplar  high  above  her. 
155 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

Somewhere  her  mother  had  heard  the 
word  Juno,  and  the  mere  sound  of  the 
word  appealed  to  her  starved  sense  of 
beauty  as  did  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
flowers  she  planted  in  her  tiny  yard. 
So  the  mother  gave  the  child  that  name 
and,  like  the  name,  the  child  grew  up, 
tall,  slow,  and  majestic  of  movement, 
singularly  gentle  and  quiet,  except  when 
aroused,  and  then  her  wrath  and  her 
might  were  primeval. 

St.  Hilda,  the  Mission  teacher,  was 
the  first  from  the  outside  world  to  be 
drawn  to  her.  She  had  stopped  in  at 
the  cabin  on  Clover  one  day  to  find  the 
mother  of  the  family  ill  in  bed,  and 
twelve-year-old  Juno  acting  as  cook  and 
mother  for  a  brood  of  ten.  A  few  months 
later  she  persuaded  the  father  to  let  the 
girl  come  down  to  her  school,  and  in 
156 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

the  succeeding  years  she  became  St. 
Hilda's  right  hand  and  the  mainstay 
in  the  supervision  of  the  kitchen,  house 
work,  and  laundry,  and  even  in  the 
management  of  the  Mission's  farm.  No 
one  had  the  subtle  understanding  of  St. 
Hilda's  charges  as  had  Juno — no  one 
could  handle  them  quite  so  well.  So 
that  it  was  with  real  grief  and  great 
personal  loss  that  St.  Hilda  opened  the 
way  for  Juno  to  go  to  school  in  the 
Bluegrass.  And  now,  one  sunset  in  mid- 
May,  she  was  back  at  the  Mission  in 
Happy  Valley,  and  the  two  were  in  each 
other's  arms. 

Happy  Valley  it  was  no  longer,  for 
throughout  it  the  plague  had  spread 
fear  or  sickness  or  death  in  every  little 
home.  St.  Hilda  had  gathered  her  own 
little  sufferers  in  tents  collected  from 
157 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

a  railway-camp  over  the  mountains,  a 
surveying  party,  and  from  the  Blue- 
grass.  A  volunteer  doctor  had  come 
from  the  "settlements,"  and  two  nurses, 
and  so  Juno  took  to  the  outside  work  up 
and  down  the  river,  up  every  little  creek, 
and  out  in  the  hills.  All  day  and  far 
into  the  night  she  was  gone.  Some 
times  she  did  not  for  days  come  back 
to  the  Mission.  Her  face  grew  white 
and  drawn,  and  her  cheeks  hollow  from 
poor  food,  meagre  snatches  of  sleep,  and 
untiring  work.  The  doctor  warned  her, 
St.  Hilda  warned  her,  she  got  anxious 
warning  letters  from  her  husband,  but 
on  she  went.  And  the  inevitable  hap 
pened. 

One  hot  midday,  as  she  watched  by 
the  bedside  of   a   little   patient   with   a 
branch  of  maple  in  her  hand  to  keep 
158 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

the  flies  away,  she  drowsed,  and  one  of 
the  wretched  little  insects  lighted  on 
her  moist  red  lips.  Soon  thereafter  the 
"walking  typhoid"  caught  her  as  she 
was  striding  past  Lum  Chapman's  black 
smith-shop.  Instinctively  she  kept  on 
toward  home,  and  reached  there  raving: 
"Don't  let  him  come — don't  let  him 
come ! "  And  when  the  news  got  about 
the  heart  of  Happy  Valley  almost  bled. 
Only  St.  Hilda  guessed  what  the  rnut- 
terings  of  the  sick  girl  meant,  but  she 
did  not  heed  them,  and  the  professor 
from  New  England  soon  crossed  Mason 
and  Dixon's  line  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life.  For  the  first  time  he  fell  under  the 
spell  of  the  Southern  hills — graceful, 
gracious  big  hills,  real  mountains,  densely 
wooded  like  thickets  to  their  very  tops 
— so  densely  wooded,  indeed,  that  they 
159 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

seemed  overspread  with  a  great  shaggy 
green  rug  that  swept  on  and  on  over 
the  folds  of  the  hills  as  though  bil 
lowed  up  by  a  mighty  wind  beneath. 
And  the  lights,  the  mists,  the  drifting 
cloud  shadows !  Why  had  Juno  not 
wanted  him  to  see  them  ?  And  when 
he  took  to  horseback  and  mounted 
through  that  billowing  rug,  through  ferns 
stirrup-high,  with  flowers  innumerable 
nodding  on  either  side  of  the  trail  and 
the  air  of  the  first  dawn  in  his  nostrils 
— mounted  to  the  top  of  the  Big  Black, 
rode  for  miles  along  its  gently  waving 
summit,  and  saw  at  every  turn  of  the 
path  the  majestic  supernal  beauty  of 
the  mighty  green  waves  that  swept  on 
and  on  before  him,  in  wonder  he  kept 
asking  himself: 

"Why— why?" 

He  had  not  come  into  contact  yet 
160 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

with  the  humanity  in  those  hills.  The 
log  cabins  he  had  seen  from  the  train — 
clinging  to  the  hillsides,  nestling  in  little 
coves  amid  apple-trees,  or  close  to  the 
banks  of  rushing  little  creeks — had 
struck  him  as  most  picturesque  and 
charming,  and  an  occasional  old  mill, 
with  its  big  water-wheel,  boxed-in,  grass- 
hung  mill-race  half  hidden  by  weeping 
willows,  had  given  him  sheer  delight; 
but  now  he  was  meeting  the  people  in 
the  road  and  could  see  them  close  at 
hand  in  doorway  and  porches  of  the 
wretched  little  houses  that  he  passed. 
How  mean,  meagre,  narrow,  and  poverty- 
stricken  must  be  their  lives ! 

At  one  cabin  he  had  to  stop  for  mid 
day  dinner,  for  the  word  "lunch,"  he 
found,  was  unknown.  A  slatternly 
woman  with  scraggling  black  hair,  and 
with  three  dirty  children  clinging  to  her 
161 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

dirty  apron,  "reckoned  she  mought  git 
him  a  bite,"  and  disappeared.  Flies 
swarmed  over  him  when  he  sat  in  the 
porch.  The  rancid  smell  of  bedding 
struck  his  sensitive  nostrils  from  with 
in.  He  heard  the  loud  squawking  of  a 
chicken  cease  suddenly,  and  his  hunger- 
gnawed  stomach  almost  turned  when  he 
suddenly  realized  just  what  it  meant. 
When  called  within,  it  was  dirt  and  flies, 
flies  and  dirt,  everywhere.  He  sat  in 
a  chair  with  a  smooth-worn  cane  bottom 
so  low  that  his  chin  was  just  above  the 
table.  The  table-cover  was  of  greasy 
oilcloth.  His  tumbler  was  cloudy,  un 
clean,  and  the  milk  was  thin  and  sour. 
Thick  slices  of  fat  bacon  swam  in  a  dish 
of  grease,  blood  was  perceptible  in  the 
joints  of  the  freshly  killed,  half -cooked 
chicken,  and  the  flies  swarmed. 
162 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

As  he  rode  away  he  began  to  get  a 
glimmer  of  light.  Perhaps  Juno — his 
Juno — had  once  lived  like  that;  per 
haps  her  people  did  yet. 

There  was  another  mountain  to  climb, 
and  a  stranger  who  was  going  his  way 
offered  to  act  as  guide.  The  stranger 
was  a  Kentuckian,  he  said,  from  the 
Bluegrass  region,  and  he  was  buying 
timber  through  the  hills.  He  volun 
teered  this,  but  the  New  England  man 
made  no  self-revealment.  Instead  he 
burst  out: 

6 'How  do  these  people  live  this  way?" 
"They  have  to — they're  pretty  poor." 
"They  don't  have  to  keep— dirty." 
"They've  got  used  to  it,  and  so  would 
you  if  your  folks  had  been  living  out  in 
this  wilderness  for  a  hundred  years." 
From  a  yard  that  they  passed,  a  boy 
163 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

with  a  vacant  face  and  retreating  fore 
head  dropped  his  axe  to  stare  at  them. 

"That's  the  second  one  I've  seen," 
said  the  professor. 

"Yes,  idiots  are  not  unusual  in  these 
mountains — inbreeding !" 

"Do  they  still  have  moonshining  and 
feuds  and  all  that  yet?" 

"Plenty  of  moonshining.  The  feuds 
are  all  over  practically,  though  I  did 
hear  that  the  big  feud  over  the  moun 
tain  was  likely  to  be  stirred  up  again — 
the  old  Camp  and  Adkin  feud."  A 
question  came  faintly  from  behind: 

"Do  you  know  any  of  the  Camps?" 

"Used  to  know  old  Red  King  Camp, 
the  leader.  He's  in  the  penitentiary  xiow 
for  killing  a  man.  What's  the  mat 
ter?"  He  turned  in  his  saddle,  but  the 
New  Englander  had  recovered  himself. 
164 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"Nothing — nothing.  It  seems  awful 
to  a  Northern  man." 

The  stranger  thought  he  had  heard  a 
groan  behind  him,  and  he  had — King 
Camp  was  the  name  of  the  Northern 
man's  father-in-law.  Ah,  he  was  begin 
ning  to  understand;  but  why  did  Juno 
not  want  him  to  come  for  five  years? 

"Is — is  Red  King  Camp — how  long 
was  his  sentence?" 

"Let's  see — he's  been  in  two  years, 
and  I  heard  he  had  three  years  more. 
Yes,  I  remember — he  got  five  years." 

Once  more  the  Bluegrass  man  thought 
he  heard  a  groan,  but  the  other  was  only 
clearing  his  throat.  The  New  Englander 
asked  no  more  questions,  and  about  two 
hours  by  sun  they  rode  over  a  ridge  and 
down  to  the  bed  of  Clover  Fork. 

"Well,  stranger,  we  part  here.  You 
165 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

go  up  to  the  head  of  the  creek,  and  any 
body '11  tell  you  where  Red  King  lives. 
There's  plenty  of  moonshining  up  that 
way,  and  if  anybody  asks  your  name 
and  your  business — tell  'em  quick.  They 
won't  bother  you.  And  if  I  were  you  I 
wouldn't  criticise  these  people  to  any 
body.  They're  morbidly  sensitive,  and 
you  never  know  when  you  are  giving 
mortal  offense.  And,  by  the  way,  most 
offenses  are  mortal  in  these  hills." 

"Thank  you.  Good-by — and  thank 
you." 

Everybody  knew  where  old  King 
Camp  lived — "  Fust  house  a  lee  tie  way 
down  t'other  side  o'  the  mountain  from 
the  head  of  Clover."  And  nobody  asked 
him  his  name  or  his  business.  Near  dusk 
he  was  at  the  head  of  Little  Clover  and 
looking  down  on  Happy  Valley.  The 
166 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

rimming  mountains  were  close  overhung 
with  motionless  wet  clouds.  Above  and 
through  them  lightning  flashed,  and 
thunder  cracked  and  boomed  like  en 
circling  artillery  around  the  horizon. 
The  wind  came  with  the  rush  of  mighty 
wings,  and  blackness  dropped  like  a 
curtain.  By  one  flash  of  lightning  he 
saw  a  great  field  of  corn,  by  another  a 
big,  comfortable  barn,  a  garden,  a  trim 
picket-fence,  a  yard  full  of  flowers,  and 
a  log  house  the  like  of  which  he  had  not 
seen  in  the  hills — and  a  new  light  came 
— Juno's  work !  A  torrent  of  rain  swept 
after  him  as  he  stepped  upon  the  porch 
and  knocked  on  the  door.  A  moment 
later  he  was  looking  at  the  kindest  and 
most  motherly  face  and  into  the  kindest 
eyes  he  had  ever  seen. 

"I'm  Juno's  husband,"  he  said  simply. 
167 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

For  a  moment  she  blinked  up  at  him  be- 
wilderedly  through  brass-rimmed  spec 
tacles,  and  then  she  put  her  arms  around 
him  and  bent  back  to  look  up  at  him 
again.  Then,  still  without  a  word,  she 
led  him  on  tiptoe  to  an  open  door  and 
pointed. 

"She's  in  thar."  And  there  she  lay — 
his  Juno — thin,  white,  unconscious,  her 
beauty  spiritualized,  glorified.  He  sat 
simply  looking  at  her — how  long  he  did 
not  know — until  he  felt  a  gentle  touch 
on  his  shoulder.  It  was  Juno's  mother 
beckoning  him  to  supper. 

Going  out  he  saw  Juno's  hand  in 
everything — the  hand-woven  rag  carpet, 
the  curtains  at  the  windows,  the 
andirons  at  the  log  fire — for  summer 
nights  in  those  hills  are  always  cool — 
saw  it  in  the  kitchen,  the  table-cloth, 
168 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

napkins,  even  though  they  were  in  rings, 
the  dishes,  the  food,  the  neatness  in 
everything.  He  could  see  the  likeness 
of  Juno  to  the  gentle-voiced  old  woman 
who  would  talk  of  nothing  but  her 
daughter.  In  a  moment  she  was  calling 
him  "Jim,"  and  few  others  than  his 
dead  mother  had  ever  called  him  that. 
And  when  at  bedtime  she  said,  "Don't 
let  her  die,  Jim,"  he  leaned  down  and 
kissed  her — something  her  own  sons 
when  grown  up  had  never  done. 

"No,  mother,"  he  said,  and  the  word 
did  not  come  tiard. 

Ill 

Juno  had  been  delirious  since  the  day 

she  was  stricken.     Her  mutterings   had 

been   disjointed    and    unintelligible,    but 

that  night,  while  Mother  Camp  and  the 

169 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

New  Englander  sat  at  her  bedside,  she 
said  again: 

"Don't  let  him  come." 

"She  ain't  said  that  for  three  days 
now,"  said  Mother  Camp.  "Whut  d' 
you  s'pose  she  means?"  The  husband 
shook  his  head. 

Next  morning  the  nurse  for  whom 
St.  Hilda  had  sent  arrived  from  the 
Bluegrass,  and  the  New  Englander 
started  down  Little  Clover  to  the  settle 
ment  school  to  consult  the  doctor  and 
see  St.  Hilda.  It  was  a  brilliant, 
drenched  June  day,  and  never,  he  be 
lieved,  had  his  eyes  rested  on  such  a 
glory  of  green  and  gold.  Already  he 
had  been  heralded  in  the  swift  way  com 
mon  in  the  hills,  and  all  who  saw  him 
coming  knew  who  he  was.  He  was  Juno's 
man,  and  the  people  straightway  called 
170 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

him — Jim.  When  he  stood  on  St.  Hilda's 
porch  her  words  and  her  drawn,  anxious 
face  went  straight  to  his  heart.  There 
was  nobody  like  Juno,  and  without 
Juno  she  did  not  know  how  she  could 
get  along.  Her  own  little  sufferers  were 
in  tents  about  her,  and  there  was  only 
one  nurse  for  them.  Juno,  said  the  doc 
tor,  might  be  unconscious  for  a  long  time, 
and  her  nurse  must  be  with  her  night 
and  day :  so  who  would  take  Juno's  place 
throughout  the  hills  she  did  not  know. 
At  once  the  New  Englander,  who  knew  a 
good  deal  about  medicine  and  something 
of  typhoid,  found  himself  offering  to  do 
all  he  could.  Then  and  there  the  Mis 
sion  teacher  gave  him  a  list  of  patients, 
and  then  and  there,  with  a  thermometer 
in  his  pocket  and  a  medicine-case  in 
his  hand,  he  started  on  his  first  round. 
171 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

The  people  were  very  shy  with  him  at 
first.  In  a  few  days  he  was  promoted 
to  Doctor  Jim,  and  soon  he  was  plain 
"Doc"  to  all.  By  every  mouth  that 
opened  he  found  Juno's  name  blessed, 
and  many  were  the  tales  of  what  she  had 
done.  She  had  saved  wild  Jay  Dawn's 
little  girl  and  Lum  Chapman's  first 
born.  She  had  brought  old  Aunt  Sis 
Stidham  back  from  the  shadow  of  the 
grave,  and  had  turned  that  tart,  irrev 
erent  old  person's  erring  feet  back  into 
the  way  of  the  Lord.  Night  and  day, 
and  through  wind  and  storm,  she  had 
travelled  the  hills,  healing  the  sick  and 
laying  out  and  helping  to  bury  the  dead. 
Apparently  there  was  not  a  man,  woman, 
or  child  in  Happy  Valley  who  did  not 
love  her  or  have  some  reason  to  be  grate 
ful,  and  when  in  the  open-air  meeting- 
172 


Night  and  day,  and  through  wind  and  storm,  she  had  travelled 
the  hills,  healing  the  sick. 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

house  Parson  Small  told  of  her  work 
and  prayed  that  her  life  be  spared,  there 
were  fervent  "Amens,"  or  tears  and 
sobs,  from  all.  Doctor  Jim  soon  found 
himself  getting  deeply  interested  in  the 
people,  and  when  he  contrasted  the 
lives  of  those  whom  the  influence  of 
the  Mission  school  had  not  yet  reached 
with  the  folks  in  Happy  Valley  he  began 
to  realize  the  amazing  good  that  St. 
Hilda  was  doing  in  the  hills.  What 
a  place  he  was  earning  for  himself  he 
was  yet  to  learn,  but  through  some 
mystification  an  inkling  came.  To  be 
sure,  everybody  spoke  to  him  as  though 
he  were  a  fixture  in  the  land.  He  could 
pass  no  door  that  somebody  did  not 
ask  him  to  come  in  and  rest  a  spell, 
or  stay  all  night.  He  never  went  by 
the  mill  that  Aunt  Jane  did  not  have 
173 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

a  glass  of  buttermilk  for  him  and  Uncle 
Jerry  did  not  try  to  entice  him  in  for 
a  talk.  Several  times  the  little  judge 
of  Happy  Valley  had  ridden  down  to 
ask  after  Juno  and  to  talk  with  him. 
Pleasant  Trouble  waved  his  crutch  from 
a  hillside  and  shouted  himself  at  Doc 
tor  Jim's  disposal  for  any  purpose  what 
ever.  But  one  sunset  he  had  stopped 
at  Lum  Chapman's  blacksmith-shop  just 
as  a  big,  black-haired  fellow,  with  a 
pistol  buckled  around  him,  was  reeling 
away.  The  men  greeted  him  rather 
solemnly,  and  he  felt  that  they  wanted 
to  say  something  to  him,  but  no  one 
spoke.  He  saw  Jay  Dawn  nod  curtly 
to  Pleasant  Trouble,  who  got  briskly 
up  and  walked  up  the  road  with  him 
until  they  were  in  sight  of  Juno's  home. 
For  three  days  thereafter  Pleasant  was 
174 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

waiting  for  him  at  the  shop  and  walked 
the  same  space  with  him.  The  next 
day  Jay  Dawn  spoke  with  some  em 
barrassment  to  him: 

"Have  you  got  a  gun?" 

"No."    Jay  handed  forth  one. 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Doctor  Jim. 

"Go  on!"  said  Jay  shortly;  "I  got 
another  un."  , 

"But  why  do  I  need  a  gun?"  Jay 
was  distinctly  embarrassed. 

"Well,"  he  drawled,  "thar's  some 
purty  bad  fellers  'bout  hyeh,  an'  when 
they  gits  drunk  they  might  do  some- 
thin'.  Now  that  Jerry  Lipps  you  seed 
hyeh  t'other  day  a-staggerin'  off  drunk 
— he's  bad.  An'  you  do  a  heap  o'  travel- 
lin'  alone.  This  ain't  fer  you  to  kill 
nobody  but  jus'  kind  o'  to  pertect  yer- 
self." 

175 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"All  right,"  laughed  Doctor  Jim.  "I 
couldn't  hit  a  barn — "  but  to  humor 
Jay  he  took  the  weapon,  and  this  time 
Pleasant  Trouble  did  not  walk  home 
with  him. 

Later  he  mentioned  the  matter  to 
St.  Hilda,  who  looked  very  grave. 

''Yes,  Jerry  Lipps  is  a  bad  man.  He's 
just  out  of  the  penitentiary.  Pleasant 
walked  home  with  you  to  protect  you 
from  him.  They  won't  let  him  do  any 
thing  to  you  openly.  And  Jay  gave 
you  that  gun  in  case  he  should  attack 
you  when  nobody  was  around." 

"But  what  has  the  fellow  got  against 
me?"  The  teacher  hesitated. 

"Well,  Jerry  used  to  be  in  love  with 
Juno,  but  she  would  never  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  him  and  he  never  would 
let  her  have  anything  to  do  with  any- 
176 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

body  else.  He  shot  one  boy,  and  shot 
at  another,  and  he  has  always  sworn 
that  he  would  kill  the  man  she  mar 
ried/' 

"Nonsense!"  he  said,  but  going  home 
that  night  Doctor  Jim  carried  the  gun 
where  he  could  get  at  it  quickly. 

"My  God!"  he  muttered  with  grim 
humor;  "no  wonder  Juno  didn't  want 
me  to  come." 

It  was  only  a  few  days  later  that 
Doctor  Jim  came  out  of  Luna  Chap 
man's  house  and  paused  in  the  path 
looking  up  Wolf  Run.  Jerry  Lipps's 
sister  lived  half  a  mile  above  and  he 
had  just  heard  that  her  little  daughter 
was  down  with  the  fever.  Jerry  might 
be  staying  with  the  sister,  but  Doctor 
Jim's  duty  was  now  up  there  and,  in 
spite  of  the  warnings  given  him,  he 
177 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

did  not  hesitate.  The  woman  stared 
when  he  told  who  he  was  and  why  he 
had  come,  but  she  nodded  and  pointed 
to  the  bed  where  the  child  lay.  He  put 
his  pistol  on  the  bed,  thrust  a  thermom 
eter  into  the  little  girl's  mouth  and  be 
gan  taking  her  pulse.  A  hand  swept 
the  pistol  from  the  bed  and,  when  he 
turned  around,  about  all  he  could  think 
was :  ( '  How  extraordinary  ! ' ' 

Jerry,  red  with  rage  and  drink,  was  at 
the  kitchen  door  fumbling  at  the  butt  of 
his  pistol,  while  his  sister  had  Doctor 
Jim's  gun  levelled  at  her  brother's  heart. 

"You  can't  tech  him,"  she  said  coolly, 
"an'  if  you  pull  that  gun  out  an  inch 
furder  I'll  kill  ye  as  shore  as  thar's  a 
God  in  heaven."  And  at  that  moment 
the  door  opened  and  Pleasant  Trouble 
swung  in  on  his  crutch  and  grinned. 
178 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

Doctor  Jim  then  heard  the  tongue- 
lashing  of  his  life.  The  woman's  volu 
bility  was  like  a  mill-race,  and  her  com 
mand  of  vitriolic  epithets  was  beyond 
his  ken.  She  recited  what  Juno  had 
done,  Doctor  Jim  was  doing,  the  things 
Jerry  had  done  and  left  undone,  and 
wound  up: 

"You  never  was  wuth  Juno's  little 
finger,  an'  you  ain't  wuth  his  little 
finger-nail  now.  Take  his  gun,  Pleas. 
Take  him  to  the  State  line,  an'  don't 
you  boys  let  him  come  back  agin  until 
he's  stopped  drinkin',  got  a  suit  o' 
clothes,  an'  a  job." 

"Why,  Mandy,"  said  Pleasant,  "hit's 
kind  o'  funny,  but  Lum  an'  Jay  an'  me 
fixed  hit  up  about  an  hour  ago  that  we 
aimed  to  do  that  very  thing.  I  seed 
Doc  a-comin'  up  hyeh,  an'  was  afeard  I 
179 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

mought  be  too  late :  but  if  I'd  'a'  knowed 
you  was  hyeh  I  wouldn't  'a'  worried." 

Again  Doctor  Jim  was  thinking,  "How 
extraordinary!"  but  this  time  how  ex 
traordinary  it  was  that  the  man  really 
meant  to  shoot  him.  Somehow  he  be 
gan  to  understand. 

Still  grinning,  Pleasant  Trouble  had 
swung  across  the  room,  whipped  Jerry's 
pistol  from  the  holster,  and  with  it  mo 
tioned  the  owner  toward  the  door.  Then 
Doctor  Jim  rose.  "Hold  on!"  he  said, 
and  he  took  the  pistol  from  the  woman's 
hands,  strode  straight  up  to  Jerry  and 
smiled.  Now,  from  the  top  of  Virginia 
down  through  seven  Southern  States  to 
Georgia  there  are  some  three  million 
mountaineers,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  among 
them  all  any  other  three  pairs  of  ears 
ever  heard  such  words  as  Professor 
180 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

James  Blagden  of  New  England  spoke 
now: 

"Jerry,  I  don't  blame  you  for  having 
loved  Juno,  or  for  loving  her  now.  I 
wouldn't  blame  anybody.  I  even  un 
derstand  now  why  you  wanted  to  kill 
me,  but  that  would  have  been — silly. 
Give  him  back  his  gun,  Pleasant,"  he 
added,  still  smiling,  "and  give  this  one 
back  to  Jay."  He  reached  in  his  pocket, 
pulled  forth  two  cigars  and  handed  one 
to  each.  "Now  you  two  sit  down  and 
smoke,  and  in  a  moment  I'll  go  along 
with  you,  and  we'll  help  Jerry  get  a 
job."  And  thereupon  Doctor  Jim  turned 
around  to  his  little  patient.  Dazed  and 
a  bit  hypnotized,  Jerry  took  the  cigar 
and  thrust  his  pistol  into  his  holster. 

"I'll  be  gittin'  along,"  he  said  sul 
lenly,  and  made  for  the  door.  Pleasant 
181 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

followed  him.  At  the  road  Jerry  turned 
one  way  and  Pleasant  the  other. 

"You  heered  whut  Mandy  and  me 
said,"  drawled  Pleasant.  "If  you  poke 
yore  nose  over  the  line  'bout  three  of 
us  will  shoot  you  on  sight.  We'd  do 
it  fer  Juno,  an'  if  she  ain't  alive  we'll 
do  it  fer  Doctor  Jim." 

"I  was  a-goin'  over  thar  anyways," 
said  Jerry,  "an'  I'll  come  back  when  I 
please.  You  one-legged  limb  o'  Satan — 
you  go  plum'  " — Pleasant's  eyes  began 
to  glitter — "  back  to  him." 

Pleasant  laughed,  and  as  they  walked 
their  separate  ways  the  same  question 
was  in  the  minds  of  both: 

"Now,  whut  the  hell  did  he  mean  by 
'silly'?" 


182 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


IV 

Only  the  next  morning  a  happy  day 
dawned.  Old  King  Camp  came  home 
with  his  sons — two  stalwart  boys  and  a 
giant  father.  Doctor  Jim  looked  long  at 
old  King's  hair,  which  was  bushy  and 
jet-black.  He  stood  it  as  long  as  he 
could  and  then  he  asked: 

"Why  do  people  on  the  other  side 
of  the  mountain  call  you  Red  King 
Camp?"  he  asked. 

"They  don't — not  more'n  once,"  was 
the  grim  answer.  "I'm  Black  King 
Camp.  Red's  my  cousin,  but  I  don't 
claim  him." 

One  load  was  off  Doctor  Jim's  heart. 
His  father-in-law  was  like  his  name  in 
many  ways,  and  Doctor  Jim  liked  him 
183 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

straightway  and  Black  King  liked  Doc 
tor  Jim.  Old  King  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  see  why  Juno  didn't  bring 
you  down  here  long  ago,"  he  said,  and 
Doctor  Jim  did  not  try  to  explain — he 
couldn't.  It  must  have  been  fear  of 
Jerry — and  he  believed  that  Jerry,  too, 
was  now  out  of  the  way. 

About  noon  Juno  came  back  for  the 
first  time  from  another  world.  She  did 
not  open  her  eyes,  but  she  heard  voices 
and  knew  what  they  were  saying.  Her 
mother  was  talking  in  the  next  room  to 
somebody  whom  she  called  Jim.  Who 
could  Jim  be?  And  then  she  heard  the 
man's  voice.  Her  eyes  opened  slowly  on 
the  nurse,  her  lips  moved,  but  before 
she  could  frame  the  question  her  heart 
throbbed  so  that  she  went  back  into  un 
consciousness  again.  But  the  nurse  saw 
181 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

and  told,  and  when  Juno  came  back 
again  she  saw  her  husband  and  smiled 
without  surprise  or  fright. 

"I  dreamed  you  were  here,"  she  whis 
pered,  "and  I'm  dreaming  right  now 
that  you  are  here.  Why,  I  see  you." 
Gently  he  took  her  face  in  his  hands, 
and  when  she  felt  his  touch  she  looked 
at  him  wildly  and  the  tears  sprang. 
From  that  day  on  she  gained  fast,  and 
from  the  nurse,  her  mother,  and  the 
neighbors  she  soon  knew  the  story  of 
Doctor  Jim. 

"So  you  thought  Red  King  was  my 
father,"  she  said,  "and  that  he  was  in 
the  penitentiary?"  Doctor  Jim  nodded 
shamefacedly. 

"Well,  even  that  wouldn't  have  been 
so   bad — not   down   here.      And    maybe 
you  thought  I  didn't  want  you  to  come 
185 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

on  account  of  Jerry  Lipps."  Again 
Doctor  Jim  nodded  admission,  and  Juno 
laughed. 

"I  never  thought  of  that,  and  if  I 
had,"  she  added  proudly  and  scornfully, 
"I  never  would  have  been  afraid — for 
you." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  want  me  to 
come?" 

"I  didn't  know  you1— didn't  know  the 
big,  big  man  you  are.  Now  I'm  shamed 
— and  happy." 

One  morning,  three  weeks  later,  Jay 
Dawn  and  Lum  Chapman  brought  up  a 
litter  that  Lum  had  made,  and  they  two 
and  Black  King  and  Doctor  Jim  made 
ready  to  carry  Juno  down  the  mountain. 
Jerry  Lipps  was  passing  in  the  road 
when  they  bore  her  out  the  gate,  and 
he  started  to  sidle  by  with  averted  eyes. 
Doctor  Jim  halted. 

186 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

"Here,  Jerry !"  he  called.  "You  take 
my  place."  And  Jerry,  red  as  an  oak 
leaf  in  autumn,  stepped  up  to  the  litter, 
and  up  at  her  old  lover  Juno  smiled. 

"Doc,"  said  Jerry,  "I  got  a  job." 

Behind,  Pleasant  Trouble  swung  along 
with  Doctor  Jim.  Mother  Camp  fol 
lowed  on  horseback.  People  ran  from 
every  house  to  greet  Juno,  or  from  high 
on  the  hillsides  waved  their  hands  and 
shouted  "how-dyes"  down  to  her.  Soon 
they  were  at  the  Mission,  where  St.  Hilda 
and  Uncle  Jerry  and  Aunt  Jane  were 
waiting  on  the  porch,  and  where  pale 
little  boys  and  girls  trooped  weakly 
from  the  tents  to  welcome  her.  And 
then  at  a  signal  from  Doctor  Jim  the 
four  picked  up  the  litter. 

"Why,  where  are  you  going?"  asked 
Juno. 

"Never  you  mind,"  said  Doctor  Jim. 
187 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

Through  the  little  vineyard  they  went, 
up  a  little  hill  underneath  cedars  and 
blooming  rhododendrons,  and  there  on 
the  top  was  a  little  cabin  built  of  logs 
with  the  bark  still  on  them,  with  a  porch 
running  around  all  sides  but  one,  and 
supported  by  the  trunks  of  little  trees. 
The  smell  of  cedar  came  from  the  open 
door,  and  all  was  as  fresh  and  clean  as 
the  breath  of  the  forest  from  which 
everything  came — a  home  that  had  been 
the  girl's  lifelong  dream.  The  Goddess 
of  Happy  Valley  had  her  own  little 
temple  at  last. 

On  the  open-air  sleeping-porch  they 
sat  that  night  alone. 

"I'm  going  to  help  raise  some  money 
for  that  Mission  down  there,"  said  Doc 
tor  Jim.  "I  don't  know  where  any 
more  good  is  being  done,  and  I  don't 
188 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

know  any  people  who  are  more  worth 
being  helped  than — your  people." 

Happy  Valley  below  was  aswarm  with 
fireflies.  The  murmur  of  the  river  over 
shallows  rose  to  them.  The  cries  of 
whippoorwills  encircled  them  from  the 
hillsides  and  over  the  mountain  ma 
jestically  rose  the  moon. 

"And  you  and  I  are  coming  down 
every  summer — to  help." 

Juno  gathered  his  hand  in  both  her 
own  and  held  it  against  her  cheek. 

"Jim — Doctor  Jim — my  Jim." 


189 


THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF 
PARSON  SMALL 


THE   BATTLE-PRAYER  OF 
PARSON  SMALL 

T>ARSON  SMALL  rose.  From  the 
•*-  tail-pocket  of  his  long  broadcloth 
coat  he  pulled  a  red  bandanna  hand 
kerchief  and  blew  his  nose.  He  put  the 
big  blunt  forefinger  of  his  right  hand 
on  the  text  of  the  open  Bible  before 
him. 

"Suffer — "  he  said.  He  glanced  over 
his  flock — the  blacksmith,  his  wife,  and 
her  child,  the  old  miller  and  Aunt  Bet 
sey,  the  Mission  teacher  and  some  of 
her  brood,  past  Pleasant  Trouble  with 
his  crutch  across  his  half  a  lap,  and 
to  the  heavy-set,  middle-aged  figure  just 
slipping  to  a  seat  in  the  rear  with  a 
slouched  hat  in  his  hand.  The  parson's 
193 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

glance  grew  stern  and  he  closed  the 
Great  Book.  Jeb  Mullins,  the  new 
comer,  was — moonshiner  and  undesir 
able  citizen  in  many  ways.  He  had 
meant,  said  the  parson,  to  preach  straight 
from  the  word  of  God,  but  he  would 
take  up  the  matter  in  hand,  and  he 
glared  with  doubtful  benevolence  at  Jeb's 
moon  face,  grayish  whiskers,  and  mild 
blue  eyes.  Many  turned  to  follow  his 
glance,  and  Jeb  moved  in  his  seat  and 
his  eyes  began  to  roll,  for  all  knew  that 
the  matter  in  hand  was  Jeb. 

Straightway  the  parson  turned  his 
batteries  on  the  very  throne  of  King 
Alcohol  and  made  it  totter.  Men  "dis 
guised  by  liquer"  were  not  themselves. 
Whiskey  made  the  fights  and  the  feuds. 
It  broke  up  meetings.  It  made  men 
lie  around  in  the  woods  and  neglect 
their  families.  It  stole  brains  and  weak- 
194 


BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 

ened  bodies.  It  made  women  unhappy 
and  debauched  children.  It  turned  Holy 
Christmas  into  a  drunken  orgy.  And 
"right  thar  in  their  very  midst,"  he 
thundered,  was  a  satellite  of  the  Devil- 
King,  "who  was  a-doin'  all  these  very 
things,"  and  that  limb  of  Satan  must 
give  up  his  still,  come  to  the  mourner's 
bench,  and  "wrassle  with  the  Sperit 
or  else  be  druv  from  the  county  and 
go  down  to  burnin'  damnation  forever- 
more."  And  that  was  not  all:  this  man, 
he  had  heard,  was  "a-detainin'  a  female," 
an'  the  little  judge  of  Happy  Valley 
would  soon  be  hot  on  his  trail.  The 
parson  mentioned  no  name  in  the  in 
dictment,  but  the  stern  faces  of  the 
women,  the  threatening  looks  of  the 
men  were  too  much  for  Jeb.  He  rose 
and  bolted,  and  the  parson  halted. 
"The  wicked  flee  when  no  man  pur- 
195 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

sueth!"  he  cried,  and  he  raised  hands 
for  the  benediction. 

"Thar's  been  so  much  talk  about 
drinkin',"  muttered  Aunt  Sis  Stidham  as 
she  swayed  out,  "that  hit's  made  me 
plum'  thirsty.  I'd  like  to  have  a  dram 
right  now."  Pleasant  Trouble  heard 
her  and  one  eye  in  his  solemn  face  gave 
her  a  covert  wink. 

The  women  folks  had  long  clamored 
that  their  men  should  break  up  Jeb's 
still;  and  the  men  had  stood  the  nagging 
and  remained  inactive  through  the  hang 
ing-together  selfishness  of  the  sex,  for 
with  Jeb  gone  where  then  would  they 
drink  their  drams  and  play  Old  Sledge  ? 
But  now  Jeb  was  "a-detainin'  of  a 
female,"  and  that  was  going  too  far. 
For  a  full  week  Jeb  was  seen  no  more, 
196 


BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 

for  three  reasons:  he  was  arranging  an 
important  matter  with  Pleasant  Trouble; 
he  was  brooding  over  the  public  hu 
miliation  that  the  parson  had  visited 
on  him;  and  he  knew  that  he  might  be 
waited  upon  any  day  by  a  committee 
of  his  fellow  citizens  and  customers 
headed  by  a  particular  enemy  of  his. 
And  indeed  such  a  committee,  so  headed, 
was  formed,  and  as  chance  would  have 
it  they  set  forth  the  following  Sunday 
morning  just  when  Jeb  himself  set  forth 
to  halt  the  parson  on  his  way  to  church. 
The  committee  caught  sight  of  Jeb 
turning  from  the  roadside  into  the  bushes 
and  the  leader  motioned  them  too  into 
the  rhododendron,  whispering: 

"Wait  an'   we'll  ketch  him  in   some 
mo'    devilment."      In    the    bushes    they 
waited.     Soon  the  parson  hove  in  view 
197 


\ 
IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

on  a  slowly  pacing  nag,  with  his  hands 
folded  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle  and 
deep  in  meditation.  Jeb  stepped  out 
into  the  road  and  the  hidden  men  craned 
their  necks  from  the  bushes  with  eyes 
and  ears  alert. 

"Good  mornin',  Parson  Small!"  The 
old  nag  stopped  and  the  parson's  head 
snapped  up  from  his  re  very. 

"Good  mornin',  Jeb  Muffins."  The 
parson's  greeting  was  stern  and  some 
what  uneasy,  for  he  did  not  like  the 
look  on  old  Jeb's  face. 

"Parson  Small,"  said  Jeb  unctuously, 
"las'  Sunday  was  yo9  day."  The  men 
in  the  bushes  thrust  themselves  farther 
out — they  could  hear  every  word — "an' 
this  Sunday  is  mine." 

"Every  Sunday  is  the  Lawd's,  Jeb 
Mullins — profane  it  not." 

"Well,  mebbe  He'll  loan  me  this  un, 
198 


BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 

parson.  You  lambasted  me  afore  all 
Happy  Valley  last  Sunday  an'  now  I'm 
a-goin'  to  lick  you  fer  it."  The  parson's 
eye  gleamed  faintly  and  subsided. 

"I'm  on  my  way  to  preach  the  word 
of  God,  Jeb  Muffins."  ' 

''You'll  git  thar  in  time,  parson.  Git 
off  yo' boss!" 

"I've  got  my  broadcloth  on,  Jeb 
Mullins,  an'  I  don't  want  to  muss  it 
up — wait  till  I  come  back." 

;<You  can  take  it  off,  parson,  or  brush 
off  the  dust  atterwards — climb  off  yo' 
hoss."  Again  the  parson's  eye  gleamed 
and  this  time  did  not  subside. 

"I  reckon  you'll  give  me  time  to  say 
a  prayer,  Jeb  Mullins !" 

"Shore — you'll  need  it  afore  I  git 
through  with  ye." 

With  a  sigh  the  parson  swung  offside 
from  Jeb,  dexterously  pulling  a  jack- 
199 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

knife  from  his  trousers-pocket,  opening 
it,  and  thrusting  it  in  the  high  top  of 
his  right  boot.  Then  he  kneeled  in  the 
road  with  uplifted  face  and  eyes  closed: 
"O  Lawd,"  he  called  sonorously, 
"thou  knowest  that  I  visit  my  fellow 
man  with  violence  only  with  thy  favor 
and  in  thy  name.  Thou  knowest  that 
when  I  laid  Jim  Thompson  an'  Si  Mar- 
cum  in  thar  graves  it  was  by  thy  aid. 
Thou  knowest  how  I  disembowelled  with 
my  trusty  knife  the  miserable  sinner 
Hank  Smith."  Here  the  parson  drew 
out  his  knife  and  began  honing  it  on 
the  leg  of  his  boot.  "An'  hyeh's  another 
who  meddles  with  thy  servant  and  pro 
fanes  thy  day.  I  know  this  hyeh  Jeb 
Mullins  is  offensive  in  thy  sight  an' 
fergive  me,  O  Lawd,  but  I'm  a-goin' 
to  cut  his  gizzard  plum'  out,  an'  O 
200 


O  Lawd   .   .   .  hyeh's  another  who  meddles  with  thy  servant 
and  profanes  thy  day." 


' ,  >    ' 


BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 

Lawd — "  Here  Parson  Small  opened 
one  eye  and  Jeb  Mullins  did  not  stand 
on  the  order  of  his  going.  As  he  went 
swiftly  up  the  hill  the  committee  sprang 
from  the  bushes  with  haw-haws  and 
taunting  yells.  At  the  top  of  the  hill 
Jeb  turned: 

"I  was  a-goin'  anyhow,"  he  shouted, 
and  with  his  thumb  at  his  nose  he 
wriggled  his  fingers  at  them. 

"He'll  never  come  back  now — he'll 
be  ashamed." 

"Friends,"  called  the  parson,  "the 
Lawd  is  with  me — peace  be  unto  you." 
And  the  committee  said: 

"Amen!" 

The  Japanese  say:   Be  not  surprised  if 
the  surprising  does  not  surprise.     When 
Jeb  walked  into  meeting  the  following 
201 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

Sunday  no  citizen  of  Happy  Valley  had 
the  subtlety  to  note  that  of  them  all 
Pleasant  Trouble  alone,  sitting  far  in  the 
rear,  showed  no  surprise.  Pleasant's  face 
was  solemn,  but  in  his  eyes  was  an  ex 
pectant  smile.  Women  and  men  glared, 
and  the  parson  stopped  his  exhortation 
to  glare,  but  Jeb  had  timed  his  entrance 
with  the  parson's  call  for  sinners  to  come 
to  the  mourners'  bench.  It  was  the 
only  safe  place  for  him  and  there  he 
went  and  there  he  sat.  The  parson  still 
glared,  but  he  had  to  go  on  exhorting — 
he  had  to  exhort  even  Jeb.  And  Jeb 
responded.  He  not  only  "wrassled  with 
the  Sperit"  valiantly  but  he  "came 
through" — that  is,  he  burst  from  the 
gloom  of  evil  and  disbelief  into  the  light 
of  high  purpose  and  the  glory  of  salva 
tion.  He  rose  to  confess  and  he  con- 
202 


BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 

fessed  a  great  deal;  but,  as  many  knew, 
not  all — who  does?  He  had  driven  the 
woman  like  Hagar  into  the  wilderness; 
he  would  go  out  right  now  and  the  folks 
of  Happy  Valley  should  see  him  break 
up  his  own  still  with  his  own  hands. 

"Praise  the  Lawd,"  said  the  amazed 
and  convinced  parson;  "lead  the  way, 
Brother  Mullins."  Brother  Mullins ! 
The  smile  in  Pleasant's  eyes  almost 
leaped  in  a  laugh  from  his  open  mouth. 
The  congregation  rose  and,  led  by  Jeb 
and  the  parson,  started  down  the  road 
and  up  a  ravine.  The  parson  raised  a 
hymn— "Climbing  up  Zion's  hill."  At 
his  shack  Jeb  caught  up  an  axe  which 
he  had  left  on  purpose  apparently  at 
his  gate,  and  on  they  went  to  see  Jeb 
bruise  the  head  of  the  serpent  and  prove 
his  right  to  enter  the  fold.  With  a  shout 
203 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

of  glory  Jeb  plunged  ahead  on  a  run, 
disappeared  down  a  thicketed  bank, 
and,  as  they  pushed  their  way,  singing, 
through  the  bushes,  they  could  hear 
him  below  crashing  right  and  left  with 
his  axe,  and  when  they  got  to  him  it 
was  nearly  all  over.  Many  wondered 
how  he  could  create  such  havoc  in  so 
short  a  time,  but  the  boiler  was  gashed 
with  holes,  the  worms  chopped  into 
bits,  and  the  mash-tub  was  in  splinters. 

Happy  Valley  dispersed  to  dinner. 
Lum  Chapman  took  the  parson  and  his 
new-born  father-in-law  home  with  him, 
his  wife  following  with  her  apron  at  her 
eyes,  wiping  away  grateful  tears.  At 
sunset  Pleasant  Trouble  swung  lightly 
up  Wolf  Run  on  his  crutch  and  called 
Jeb  down  to  the  gate: 

"You  got  a  good  home  now,  Jeb." 
204 


BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 

"I  shore  have."  Jeb's  religious  ecstasy 
had  died  down  but  he  looked  content. 

The  parson  was  mounting  his  nag  and 
Pleasant  opened  the  gate  for  him. 

"Hit's  sort  o'  curious,  parson,"  said 
Jeb,  "but  when  you  prayed  that  prayer 
jes'  afore  I  was  about  to  battle  with  ye 
I  begun  to  see  the  errer  o'  my  ways." 

"The  Lawd,  Brother  Mullins,"  said 
the  parson,  dryly  but  sincerely,  "moves 
in  mysterious  ways  his  wonders  to  per 
form."  The  two  watched  him  ride 
away. 

"The  new  still  will  be  hyeh  next 
week,"  said  Pleasant  out  of  one  corner 
of  his  mouth.  One  solemn  wink  they 
exchanged  and  Pleasant  Trouble  swung 
lightly  off  into  the  woods. 


205 


THE    CHRISTMAS   TREE   ON 
PIGEON 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON 
PIGEON 

fTlHE  sun  of  Christmas  poured  golden 
•*•  blessings  on  Happy  Valley  first; 
it  leaped  ten  miles  of  intervening  hills 
and  shot  winged  shafts  of  yellow  light 
into  the  mouth  of  Pigeon;  it  darted 
awakening  arrows  into  the  coves  and 
hollows  on  the  Head  of  Pigeon,  between 
Brushy  Ridge  and  Pine  Mountain;  and 
one  searching  ray  flashed  through  the 
open  door  of  the  little  log  schoolhouse 
at  the  forks  of  Pigeon  and  played  like 
a  smile  over  the  waiting  cedar  that 
stood  within — alone. 

Down  at  the  mines  below,  the  young 
doctor   had   not   waited   the   coming   of 
209 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

that  sun.  He  had  sprung  from  his  bed 
at  dawn,  had  built  his  own  fire,  dressed 
hurriedly,  and  gone  hurriedly  on  his 
rounds,  leaving  a  pill  here,  a  powder 
there,  and  a  word  of  good  cheer  every 
where.  That  was  his  Christmas  tree, 
the  cedar  in  the  little  schoolhouse — his 
and  Hers.  The  Marquise  of  Queens- 
berry,  he  called  her — and  she  was  coming 
up  from  the  Gap  that  day  to  dress  that 
tree  and  spread  the  joy  of  Christmas 
among  mountain  folks,  to  whom  the 
joy  of  Christmas  was  quite  unknown. 

An  hour  later  the  passing  mail-carrier, 
from  over  Black  Mountain,  stopped  with 
switch  uplifted  at  his  office-door. 

"Them  fellers  over  the  Ridge  air 
comin'  over  to  shoot  up  yo'  Christmas 
tree,"  he  drawled. 

The  switch  fell  and  he  was  gone.  The 
210 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

young  doctor  dropped  by  his  fire — 
stunned;  for  just  that  thing  had  hap 
pened  ten  years  before  to  the  only  Christ 
mas  tree  that  had  ever  been  heard  of 
in  those  immediate  hills,  except  his  own. 
Out  of  that  very  schoolhouse  some 
vandals  from  over  Pine  Mountain  had 
driven  the  Pigeon  Creek  people  after 
a  short  fight,  and  while  the  surprised 
men,  frightened  women  and  children, 
and  the  terrified  teacher  scurried  to 
safety  behind  rocks  and  trees  had  shot 
the  tree  to  pieces.  That  was  ten  years 
before,  but  even  now,  though  there 
were  some  old  men  and  a  few  old  women 
who  knew  the  Bible  from  end  to  end, 
many  grown  people  and  most  of  the 
children  had  never  heard  of  the  Book, 
or  of  Christ,  or  knew  that  there  was 
a  day  known  as  Christmas  Day.  That 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

such  things  were  so  had  hurt  the  doctor 
to  the  heart,  and  that  was  why,  as  Christ 
mas  drew  near,  he  had  gone  through  the 
out-of-the-way  hollows  at  the  Head  of 
Pigeon  and  got  the  names  and  ages  of 
all  the  mountain  children;  why  now. 
long  after  that  silly  quarrel  with  the 
marquise,  he  had  humbled  his  pride 
and  written  her  please  to  come  and 
help  him;  why  she  had  left  the  Christ 
mas  of  Happy  Valley  in  St.  Hilda's 
hands  and  was  coming;  and  why  now 
the  cedar-tree  stood  in  the  little  log 
schoolhouse  at  the  forks  of  Pigeon. 
Moreover,  there  was  yet  enmity  be 
tween  the  mountaineers  of  Pigeon  and 
the  mountaineers  over  Pine  Mountain, 
who  were  jealous  and  scornful  of  any 
signs  of  the  foreign  influence  but  re 
cently  come  into  the  hills.  The  meet 
ing-house,  courthouse,  and  the  school- 
212 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

house  were  yet  favorite  places  for  fights 
among  the  mountaineers.  There  was 
yet  no  reverence  at  all  for  Christmas, 
and  the  same  vandals  might  yet  regard 
a  Christmas  tree  as  an  imported  fri 
volity  to  be  sternly  rebuked.  The  news 
was  not  only  not  incredible,  it  probably 
was  true;  and  with  this  conclusion  some 
very  unpleasant  lines  came  into  the 
young  doctor's  kindly  face,  and  he 
sprang  for  his  horse. 

Two  hours  later  he  had  a  burly  moun 
taineer  with  a  Winchester  posted  on 
the  road  leading  over  Pine  Mountain, 
another  on  the  mountainside  overlooking 
the  little  valley,  several  more  similarly 
armed  below,  while  he  and  two  friends, 
with  revolvers  buckled  on,  waited  for 
the  marquise,  with  their  horses  hitched 
in  front  of  his  office-door.  This  Christ 
mas  tree  was  to  be. 

213 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

Meanwhile  his  mind  was  busy  with 
memories  of  the  previous  summer.  Once 
again  he  was  bounding  across  a  brook 
in  a  little  ravine  in  Happy  Valley  to 
see  two  young  mountaineers  in  a  fierce 
fight — with  his  sweetheart  and  a  one- 
legged  man  named  Pleasant  Trouble  as 
referees,  and  once  again  that  distracted 
sweetheart  was  rushing  for  refuge  to 
his  arms.  She  had  got  the  two  youths 
to  fight  with  fists  instead  of  pistols  and 
according  to  such  rules  of  the  ring  as 
she  could  remember,  and  that  was  why 
thereafter  he  had  called  her  the  mar 
quise.  Then  had  come  that  silly  quarrel 
and,  instead  of  to  the  altar,  she  had  gone 
back  to  Happy  Valley  to  teach  again. 
Now  he  would  see  her  once  more  and 
his  hopes  were  high.  Outside  he  heard 
the  creaking  of  wheels.  A  big  spring 
214 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

wagon  loaded  with  Christmas  things 
drew  up  in  front  of  his  door  and  amidst 
them  sat  the  superintendent's  daughter 
and  two  girl  friends,  who  shouted  cheery 
greetings  to  him.  He  raised  his  eyes 
and  high  above  saw  the  muffled  figure 
of  the  marquise  coming  through  the 
snowy  bushes  down  the  trail.  Behind 
her  rode  a  man  with  a  crutch  across 
his  saddle-bows — Pleasant  Trouble,  self- 
made  bodyguard  to  the  little  teacher: 
nowhere  could  she  go  without  him  at  her 
heels.  Pleasant  grinned,  and  the  faces 
of  the  lovers,  suddenly  suffused,  made 
their  story  quite  plain.  The  doctor 
lifted  her  from  her  horse  and  helped  her 
into  the  wagon,  to  meet  three  pairs  of 
mischievous  eyes,  so  that  quite  gruffly 
for  him,  he  said: 

"On  your  way  now — and  hustle!" 
215 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

A  black-snake  whip  cracked  and  up 
Pigeon  the  wagon  bumped  with  the 
doctor,  his  two  mends,  and  Pleasant 
Trouble  on  horseback  alongside;  past 
the  long  batteries  of  coke-ovens  with 
grinning  darkies,  coke-pullers,  and  loaders 
idling  about  them;  up  the  rough  road 
through  lanes  of  snow-covered  rhodo 
dendrons  winding  among  tall  oaks,  chest 
nuts,  and  hemlocks;  through  circles  and 
arrows  of  gold  with  which  the  sun 
splashed  the  white  earth — every  cabin 
that  they  passed  tenantless,  for  the  in 
mates  had  gone  ahead  long  ago — and 
on  to  the  little  schoolhouse  that  sat  on 
a  tiny  plateau  in  a  small  clearing,  with 
snow- tufted  bushes  of  laurel  on  every 
side  and  snowy  mountains  rising  on 
either  hand. 

The  door  was  wide  open  and  smoke 
216 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

was  curling  from  the  chimney.  A  few 
horses  and  mules  were  hitched  to  the 
bushes  near  by.  Men,  boys,  and  dogs 
were  gathered  around  a  big  fire  in  front 
of  the  building;  and  in  a  minute  women, 
children,  and  more  dogs  poured  out  of 
the  schoolhouse  to  watch  the  coming 
cavalcade.  Since  sunrise  the  motley 
group  had  been  waiting  there,  and  the 
tender  heart  of  the  little  marquise  began 
to  ache:  the  women  thinly  clad  in  dresses 
of  worsted  or  dark  calico,  and  a  shawl 
or  short  jacket  or  man's  coat,  with  a 
sunbonnet  or  "fascinator"  on  their 
heads,  and  men's  shoes  on  their  feet — 
the  older  ones  stooped  and  thin,  the 
younger  ones  carrying  babies,  and  all 
with  weather-beaten  faces  and  bared 
hands;  the  men  and  boys  without  over 
coats,  their  coarse  shirts  unbuttoned, 
217 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

their  necks  and  upper  chests  bared  to 
the  biting  cold,  their  hands  thrust  in 
their  pockets  as  they  stood  about  the 
fire,  and  below  their  short  coat-sleeves 
their  wrists  showing  chapped  and  red; 
while  to  the  little  boys  and  girls  had 
fallen  only  such  odds  and  ends  of  cloth 
ing  as  the  older  ones  could  spare.  Quickly 
the  doctor  got  his  party  indoors  and  to 
work  on  the  Christmas  tree.  Not  one 
did  he  tell  of  the  impending  danger,  and 
the  Colt's  .45  bulging  under  this  man's 
shoulder  or  on  that  man's  hip,  and  the 
Winchester  in  the  hollow  of  an  arm  here 
and  there  were  sights  too  common  in 
those  hills  to  arouse  suspicion  in  any 
body's  mind.  The  cedar-tree,  shorn  of 
its  branches  at  the  base  and  banked 
with  mosses,  towered  to  the  angle  of 
the  roof.  There  were  no  desks  in  the 
218 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

room  except  the  one  table  once  used  by 
the  teacher.  Long,  crude  wooden  benches 
with  low  backs  faced  the  tree,  with  an 
aisle  leading  from  the  door  between 
them.  Lap-robes  were  hung  over  the 
windows,  and  soon  a  gorgeous  figure  of 
Santa  Glaus  was  smiling  down  from  the 
very  tiptop  of  the  tree.  With  her  flushed 
face,  eager  eyes,  and  golden  hair  the 
busy  marquise  looked  like  its  patron 
saint.  Ropes  of  gold  and  silver  tinsel 
were  swiftly  draped  around  and  up  and 
down;  enmeshed  in  these  were  little  red 
Santas,  gayly  colored  paper  horns  filled 
with  candy,  colored  balls,  white  and 
yellow  birds,  little  colored  candles  with 
holders  to  match,  and  other  glittering 
things;  while  over  the  whole  tree  a 
glistening  powder  was  sprinkled  like  a 
mist  of  shining  snow.  Many  presents 
219 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

were  tied  to  the  tree,  and  under  it  were 
the  rest  of  the  labelled  ones  in  a  big 
pile.  In  a  semicircle  about  the  base  sat 
the  dolls  in  pink,  yellow,  and  blue,  and 
looking  down  the  aisle  to  the  door. 
Packages  of  candy  in  colored  Japanese 
napkins  and  tied  with  a  narrow  red 
ribbon  were  in  another  pile,  with  a 
pyramid  of  oranges  at  its  foot.  And 
yet  there  was  still  another  pile  for  un 
expected  children,  that  the  heart  of 
none  should  be  sore.  Then  the  candles 
were  lighted  and  the  door  flung  open  to 
the  eager  waiting  crowd  outside.  In  a 
moment  every  seat  was  silently  filled 
by  the  women  and  children,  and  the 
men,  stolid  but  expectant,  lined  the 
wall.  The  like  of  that  tree  no  soul  of 
them  had  ever  seen  before.  Only  a 
few  of  the  older  ones  had  ever  seen  a 
220 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

Christmas  tree  of  any  kind,  and  they 
but  one;  and  they  had  lost  that  in  a 
free-for-all  fight.  And  yet  only  the  eyes 
of  them  showed  surprise  or  pleasure. 
There  was  no  word — no  smile,  only  un 
wavering  eyes  mesmerically  fixed  on 
that  wonderful  tree. 

The  young  doctor  rose,  and  only  the 
marquise  saw  and  wondered  that  he 
was  nervous,  restless,  and  pale.  As 
best  he  could  he  told  them  what  Christ 
mas  was  and  what  it  meant  to  the  world; 
and  he  had  scarcely  finished  when  a 
hand  beckoned  to  him  from  the  door. 
Leaving  one  of  his  friends  to  distribute 
the  presents,  he  went  outside  to  dis 
cover  that  one  vandal  had  come  011 
ahead,  drunk  and  boisterous.  Promptly 
the  doctor  tied  him  to  a  tree  and,  leaving 
Pleasant  Trouble  to  guard  him,  shoul- 
221 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

dered  a  Winchester  and  himself  took 
up  a  lonely  vigil  on  the  mountainside. 
Within,  Christmas  went  on.  When  a 
name  was  called  a  child  came  forward 
silently,  usually  shoved  to  the  front  by 
some  relative,  took  what  was  handed 
to  it,  and,  dumb  with  delight,  but  too 
shy  even  to  murmur  a  word  of  thanks, 
silently  returned  to  its  seat  with  the 
presents  hugged  to  its  breast — presents 
that  were  simple,  but  not  to  those  moun 
tain  mites:  colored  pictures  and  illus 
trated  books  they  were,  red  plush  al 
bums,  simple  games,  fascinators,  and 
mittens  for  the  girls;  pocket-knives, 
balls,  firecrackers,  horns,  mittens,  caps, 
and  mufflers  for  the  boys;  a  doll  dressed 
in  everything  a  doll  should  wear  for 
each  little  girl,  no  one  of  whom  had 
ever  seen  a  doll  before,  except  what 
222 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

was  home-made  from  an  old  dress  or 
apron  tied  in  several  knots  to  make  the 
head  and  body.  Twice  only  was  the 
silence  broken.  One  boy  quite  forgot 
himself  when  given  a  pocket-knife.  He 
looked  at  it  suspiciously  and  incredu 
lously,  turned  it  over  in  his  hand,  opened 
it  and  felt  the  edge  of  the  blade,  and, 
panting  with  excitement,  cried: 
"Hit's  a  shore  'nough  knife!" 
And  again  when,  to  make  sure  that 
nobody  had  been  left  out,  though  all 
the  presents  were  gone,  the  master  of 
ceremonies  asked  if  there  was  any  other 
little  boy  or  girl  who  had  received  noth 
ing,  there  arose  a  bent,  toothless  old 
woman  in  a  calico  dress  and  baggy  black 
coat,  her  gray  hair  straggling  from  under 
her  black  sunbonnet  and  her  hands 
gnarled  and  knotted  from  work  and 
223 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

rheumatism.  Simply  as  a  child  she 
spoke: 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'." 

Gravely  the  giver  of  the  gifts  asked 
her  to  come  forward,  and  while,  non 
plussed,  he  searched  the  tree  for  the 
most  glittering  thing  he  could  find,  a 
tiny  gold  safety-pin  was  thrust  into  his 
hand,  the  whiter  hollow  of  the  mar 
quise's  white  throat  became  visible,  and 
that  old  woman  was  made  till  death 
the  proudest  in  the  hills.  Then  all  the 
women  pressed  forward  and  then  the 
men,  until  all  the  ornaments  were  gone, 
even  the  half-burned  candles  with  their 
colored  holders,  which  the  men  took 
eagerly  and  fastened  in  their  coats, 
clasping  the  holders  to  their  lapels  or 
fastening  the  bent  wire  in  their  button 
holes,  and  pieces  of  tinsel  rope,  which 

224 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

they  threw  over  their  shoulders — so  that 
the  tree  stood  at  last  just  as  it  was  when 
brought  from  the  wild  woods  outside. 

Straightway  then  the  young  doctor 
hurried  the  departure  of  the  merry 
makers.  Already  the  horses  stood 
hitched,  and,  while  the  lap-robes  were 
being  carried  out,  a  mountaineer  who 
had  brought  along  a  sack  of  apples  lined 
up  the  men  and  boys,  and  at  a  given 
word  started  running  down  the  road, 
pouring  out  the  apples  as  he  ran  while 
the  men  and  boys  scrambled  for  them, 
rolling  and  tussling  in  the  snow. 

Just  then  a  fusillade  of  shots  rang 
from  the  top  of  the  mountain,  but  no 
body  paid  any  heed.  As  the  party 
moved  away,  the  mountaineers  waved 
their  hands  and  shouted  good-by  to  the 
doctor,  too  shy  still  to  pay  much  heed 
225 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

to  the  other  "furriners"  in  the  wagon. 
The  doctor  looked  back  once  with  a 
grateful  sigh  of  relief,  but  no  one  in  the 
wagon  knew  that  there  had  been  any 
danger  that  day.  How  great  the  dan 
ger  had  been  not  even  the  doctor  knew 
till  Pleasant  Trouble  galloped  up  and 
whispered  behind  his  hand:  the  coming 
vandals  had  got  as  far  as  the  top  of 
the  dividing  ridge,  had  there  quarrelled 
and  fought  among  themselves,  so  that, 
as  the  party  drove  away,  one  invader 
was  at  the  minute  cursing  his  captors, 
who  were  setting  him  free,  and  high 
upon  the  ridge  another  lay  dead  in  the 
snow. 

That  night  the  doctor  and  the  mar 
quise,  well  muffled  against  the  cold, 
sat  on  the  porch  of  the  superintendent's 
bungalow  while  the  daughter  sat  dis- 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

erectly  inside.  The  flame-light  of  the 
ovens  licked  the  snowy  ravine  above 
and  below;  it  was  their  first  chance  for 
a  talk,  and  they  had  it  out  to  the  happy 
end. 

"You  see,"  said  the  doctor,  "there  is 
even  more  to  do  over  here  than  in 
Happy  Valley." 

"There  is  much  to  do  everywhere  in 
these  hills,"  said  the  marquise. 

"And  I  need  you — oh,  how  I  do  need 
you!"  Most  untimely,  the  daughter 
appeared  at  the  door. 

"Then  you  shall  have  me,"  whispered 
the  marquise. 

"Bedtime!"  called  the  girl,  and  only 
with  his  eyes — just  then — could  the 
doctor  kiss  the  little  marquise.  But 
the  next  morning,  when  he  went  with 
her  as  far  as  the  top  of  the  mountain 
227 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

and  Pleasant  Trouble  rode  whistling 
ahead,  he  had  better  luck. 

"When?"  he  asked. 

"Not  till  June,"  she  said  firmly.  And 
again  he  asked: 

"When?" 

"Oh,  about  two  o'clock,"  smiled  the 
marquise. 

"The  first  two  o'clock?" 

"Too  early!" 

"The  second,"  he  said  decidedly.  For 
answer  the  marquise  leaned  from  her 
saddle  toward  him  and  he  kissed  her 
again. 

Later,  by  just  five  months  and  one 
week,  the  doctor  mounted  his  horse  for 
Happy  Valley.  He  had  to  go  up  Pigeon, 
and  riding  by  the  little  schoolhouse,  he 
stopped  at  the  door  and  from  his  horse 
pushed  it  open.  The  Christmas  tree 
228 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

stood  just  as  he  had  left  it  on  Christ 
mas  Day,  only,  like  the  evergreens  on 
the  wall  and  over  the  windows,  it  too 
was  brown,  withered,  and  dry.  Gently 
he  closed  the  door  and  rode  on.  And 
on  the  clock-stroke  of  two  in  Happy 
Valley  there  was  a  wedding  that  blessed 
first  June  afternoon. 


r 


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hand  and  interprets  it  in  a  spirit  of  sympathy." 

—The  Outlook. 


Following  the  Sun-Flag 

$1.25  net 

"The  story  is  so  graphically  told  in  the  writer's  original 
and  inimitable  style  that  it  has  not  a  dull  page  from  begin 
ning  to  end." — Buffalo  Courier. 

"It  is  an  entertaining,  interesting  record  admirably  writ- 
ten."— New  York  Mail. 


"Hell  fer  Sartain" 

And  Other  Stories 

12mo.    $ 


"In  no  species  of  American  short  story  has  there  been 
greater  need  for  an  interpreter  of  the  dialect  .  .  .  and  this 
interpretation  Mr.  Fox  is  admirably  prepared  to  give." 

—  James  Lane  Allen. 


BOOKS    BY    JOHN    FOX,    JR. 

Christmas  Eve  on 
Lonesome 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  COLORS 
12mo.     $1.35nef 

"  Six  of  the  best  short  stories  ever  written  by  any  modern 
author." — Newark  Advertiser. 

"  They  play  upon  the  reader's  emotions  and  hold  his 
fascinated  attention." — Boston  Herald. 

"It  is  a  great  gift  to  be  able  to  tell  stories  such  as 
these." — Salt  Lake  Tribune. 

"To  speak  shortly  of  the  six  stories,  they  are  Kentucky; 
they  are  the  mountaineer;  they  are  the  country  and  the  people 
of  the  Blue  Grass.  No  book  could  be  more  welcome  as  a 
Christmas  gift,  possessed  as  it  is  with  a  charm  that  will  outlive 
the  holidays  by  many  years." — Every  Evening,  Wilmington. 

The  Kentuckians 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  W.  T.  SMEDLEY 
12mo.    $1.25ne* 

"He  has  caught  the  life  of  the  South,  and  his  books  are 
worthily  representative  of  the  glory  of  that  region." 

— Current  Literature. 

A  Cumberland  Vendetta 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  LOUIS  LOEB 

12mo.     $1.25nef 

"  The  fights,  murders,  moonshining,  lovemaking,  and 
occasional  revival  that  took  place  in  this  region  the  author 
describes  with  an  ability  that  few  possess." — The  Advance. 


BOOKS     BY     JOHN     FOX,     JR. 

Bluegrass  and  Rhododendron 

Outdoor  Life  in  Kentucky 

ILLUSTRATED.     12mo.     $1.75«ef 

"Full  of  out-of-door  descriptions — so  convincingly  put 
that  the  whole  scene  rises  before  us  with  such  truth  to  detail 
that  we,  likewise,  seem  to  have  travelled  over,  or  dwelt  in, 
the  region  described." — New  York  Times  Review. 

"Throughout  his  book  one  breathes  everywhere  the  fresh, 
crisp,  mountain  air." — The  Churchman. 

"No  better  studies  of  the  mountaineer  have  appeared. 
The  whole  book  breathes  the  atmosphere  of  Kentucky." 

— The  Outlook. 

A  Knight  of  the  Cumberland 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  F.  C.  YOHN 
$1.00  net 

"A  pretty  story  in  which  the  humor  acts  as  an  antidote 
to  the  sentiment  and  the  Southern  mountains  make  a  work 
ing  background  where  Mr.  Fox  is  most  thoroughly  and  en- 
joyingly  at  home." — New  York  Globe. 

"Of  intense  interest  and  full  of  original  and  attractive 
characters." — Chicago  Tribune. 

A  Mountain  Europa 

12mo.    $1.25nef 

"Mr.  Fox's  stories  are  real  stories  in  the  best  sense  of 
the  word.  They  throb  and  pulsate  with  the  life  of  a  region 
which  he  knows." — Current  Literature. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TB  32678 


R22173 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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